Charades
by GratefulInsomniac
Summary: Season 6. House joins Cuddy for dinner at the end of the episode "The Choice". A multi-chapter short story.
1. Playing Friends

_A/N-This is a multi-chapter story. I will update at least once a week. It comes from a prompt from freeasabird14 who wanted a story about what would have happened if House would have went out for dinner with Cuddy at the end of the Season 6 episode "The Choice". I didn't change the episode at all, this picks up right at the credits._

_Disclaimers-I don't own the characters. The story contains adult language and situations._

* * *

**-Playing Friends-**

The image of her crestfallen face burned in his head as palpably as the alcohol tingled while it slid down his throat. It was unavoidable for those few minutes while the heel of his hand roughly ground down into his thigh. His statement may have been blunt, but it was entirely true. He had no interest in being her friend. It should have been satisfying, perhaps even cathartic, to voice his intentions in a way that seemed to get through her willful avoidance of the topic. So far, she had managed to sidestep, ignore or blatantly walk away from each suggestion he had made. Much to his frustration, she simply disregarded his interest.

The feeling that remained in her absence certainly wasn't satisfaction. Any possible gratification to be taken from finally getting through was destroyed by her uncomfortable, disillusioned response. He stood, uncertain of his exact intentions, and trudged out into the hallway. He heard the elevator ding before he was close enough to catch up to her. He followed though, at some point becoming committed to supplanting her latest reaction to something he'd said with something less disappointing.

It was easy to see her moving around in her office. The blinds were open, and a lamp cast her silhouette as he watched. There was a bit of defeat in the way that she moved that did nothing to ease the edgy awareness that was whispering its discontent in his ears.

Striding out with purpose, her coat flung over her arm, she slowed her determined escape from the building when she saw him standing in the lobby. "I'm leaving," she stated with an obvious attempt at conveying professional courtesy and nothing more, "is there something you need now or can it wait until tomorrow?"

His eyes settling on the recently polished floor tiles, he swiveled his cane in his hand while he planned.

"You may not be hungry," she said, her voice sounding more impatient, "but I am. So do you need something or can I go eat?"

There were several long seconds of silence before he answered, "Where are you going?"

"Why?"

"Reevaluating my hunger level."

"Oh," she answered with slow confusion before offering the trace of a smile, "does that mean you want to come along?"

"Maybe."

"I'm thinking about that new place on Broad. My last assistant said their avocado salad was really good."

"Avocado salad?"

"They don't exclusively serve salads. Tex-Mex stuff…lots of grilled things. I'm sure there's something you would like. Come on, you can catch a ride with me."

They drove to the sounds of forced conversation about hospital news, awkwardly replacing silence with irrelevant words. When they walked inside, she turned suddenly, "God, House, I'm sorry. There's a bar."

"Do you mean, 'House, thank god there's a bar'? I, personally, am relieved."

"I shouldn't be facilitating bad behavior."

"So don't facilitate, engage. I'm not going to spiral out of control if I see liquor. I still drink. Have one with me over dinner. Hopefully then you can relax so you don't sound like making conversation with me is as pleasant as wearing a barbed wire bra."

She shook her head, "It's not unpleasant to talk to you, I don't-"

"Two," he told the host so they could get a table. House explained as they walked to their seats, "Stop being so tentative. You don't have to act any differently than you would have last year or the year before or the year before that. I'm not suddenly delicate."

"I'm not the one acting differently," she answered as she took her seat and picked up a menu.

"So I usually make you this nervous?"

"I'm not nervous, just uncertain."

"Because you think I shouldn't be drinking?"

"Because…," she shook her head, pausing and redirecting, "what are you getting?"

He was obviously weighing the potential outcomes that could result from continuing his line of questioning. In fact, his expression seemed to make it clear that he wasn't going to allow her to sidestep the conversation so easily, but when he finally spoke, he answered with great consideration, "Carne asada."

When they ordered, House, with surprising subtly, tacked on two shots of tequila.

"Tequila?" she asked in a warning way.

"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila…what comes next?"

"Let's just stick with one tequila and then we don't have to worry about it."

"You're getting cautious and uptight in your old age."

"I've always been cautious and uptight."

"No you haven't," he replied with a stare that held her prisoner until the shots of tequila thunked on the table.

He shoved one in her direction with the back of his finger and pointed at the lemon wedges that were provided. "Do it right," he ordered. As she hesitated, he offered, "Need me to lick your hand?"

"No."

"Or if you prefer, you can lick a line of salt off me instead."

She countered with a muffled chuckle, "I can handle it on my own."

"Come on, Cuddy, it's one fucking shot," he griped after she still hadn't touched the glass.

In the next blink, she had thrown the shot down properly and was smirking at him with a slice of fruit pinned between her teeth. His eyebrows raised slightly at the center as he stared at her mouth when her fingers retrieved the remaining lemon from her lips. "Happy?" she asked victoriously.

He waited for a few seconds before confessing, "Definitely," and downing his own shot of the drink.

When he signaled for two more, she reached out, her fingers falling over his other hand. He looked down, his first instinct was to pull back, so he did a bit, but the gentle yet firm weight of her fingers was enough to prevent his retreat. She requested through a whisper, "Not tonight. Please?"

His eyes dropped as he stopped signaling for more shots, and he agreed, "OK."

"Some other time maybe."

"Maybe."

He seemed uncomfortable again after the momentarily easy exchange between them. So she tried to change the subject, "The food in Ecuador was so good. I don't think there's any place around here that serves anything like that. So many good dishes with mango…and those fried plantains. You like those?"

"Never had them."

"There's something you haven't tried?" she teased, hoping that the tenseness was gone.

"A few things. Plantains and naked bull fighting, that's probably it. I think I've actually tried everything else."

"No bull fighting?"

"Sure. Just not naked."

"Seems unnecessarily dangerous."

"It's not the danger. I'd hate to make the bulls feel inadequate."

She snorted a laugh, leaning forward with a broad smile and they found themselves lost in conversation that didn't seem to be forced or unpleasant at all.

After nearly two hours, they were going back to the hospital. "Can we do this again?" she asked as she parked in the spot next to his car.

"Go to that restaurant?"

"Do something. After work. Something fun."

"Look, Cuddy," he started stiffly.

"No! Don't say no. We had fun."

"Lucas-"

"He makes you uncomfortable, I get that. And I know I'm at least part of the reason for that. I'm sorry-"

"I don't want an apology," House interrupted, "but I'm not going to hang out and play nice with him and act like everything is fine."

Cuddy seemed particularly awkward and flushed, "I'm _really_ sorry."

"I told you, I don't want an apology. It doesn't change anything. But don't ask me to hang out with him. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't run home and report on my mental state every night."

"I wouldn't do that, let me explain-"

"I'd really prefer it if you didn't."

"Anything we talk about is completely between us," she promised. "He's away this Friday. And my mom has Rachel."

"Where's he going?"

"I don't know. It's something for work."

"Check with me on Friday," House answered as he grabbed the door handle.

She reached out, touching his arm for the second time that night. "You know, you aren't like your patient. You _have_ a home. More than one. You have your apartment and Wilson's…even this hospital is like a home to you."

His eyes shifted away as his chin dropped toward his chest, avoiding any real response.

"You have lots of places where you belong. People…who care about you," she added.

"Tolerating and caring are not the same thing."

"I know that," she answered decisively, but he was already gone from the conversation. "Come out with me on Friday. I know the perfect thing to do."

"Administrators Anonymous meeting?"

"Something that will cheer you up."

"You're taking me home to help you go through your bikini collection?"

Her expression was mid-way between flattered and uncomfortable, and fearing that she might lose any progress she had made, she joked back, "As much as I was looking for an official ogler…" His gaze became less displeased for a moment, and she responded, "I was thinking about going down to that old theater. The one they fixed up last year."

"I'm not into chick flicks, even old ones."

"Friday is Action Night, I was just looking at it online. Someone will be blowing something up or shooting a bad guy. Come on."

"Sure," he conceded.

She leaned over, her soft cheek pressing against his face before her lips glanced over his stubble with a friendly kiss. Her smile met his look of disgruntlement. Bewildered, she asked, "Are you _angry_?"

There was an uncertain moment before he decided, "Not angry. Goodnight," and left her car.

* * *

Friday after work, they went immediately to the theater because there wasn't enough time to go home to change. As she waited for tickets, she stared ahead to avoid the obvious interest of the man in the next line. He was clearing his throat to get her attention, angling his body to try to work into her line of sight, but she kept focusing her eyes ahead.

When House joined her, she stood possessively close, smiling up sweetly at him. He looked down at her with more confusion than disapproval, "What are you doing?"

"Getting tickets," she answered as she paid. She tugged his sleeve when they walked away from the counter, "That guy…I thought-"

"Yes, I know, you were avoiding unwanted propositions. What I meant was, what are you doing at a movie like this? Explosions and heists aren't your thing."

"I like lots of different things. Sometimes, in small doses, the tough-guy thing can be sexy," she said as they entered the darkened theater.

Before he could argue, the opening scene began, and they took their places to watch the movie. She found herself staring at him more than the screen. Only a few minutes in, she could see how he was getting lost in the story. Initially his hand was on his thigh, rubbing with constant pressure against the ache that seemed to linger at all times. His hand remained there throughout the film, but the rubbing lessened or faded as he watched.

The moment the lights came back on, she asked, "Did you like it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I liked it," she commented as she stood.

"You're a terrible liar."

"I am not."

"You're not a terrible liar?"

"I'm not lying," she retorted angrily enough that the discussion tapered off to silence.

When they returned to the hospital, they both went back inside. House had test results he was hoping were finished, and Cuddy needed to take some things home with her.

"You're lying about liking the movie," he said while she unlocked her office door. "Do I look particularly pathetic tonight or is Wilson paying you so he can date with a clear conscience and zero interruptions?"

"You look great, healthy. And Wilson had nothing to do with this."

"You had a night on your own, and you want me to think that you wouldn't rather be sitting with a glass of wine or working or…hell, pretty much anywhere but at that movie with me?"

"I _wanted_ to be there."

"You felt _obligated_ to be there. Guilt is a powerful motivator."

"That's not what this is."

"OK. Then what is it?"

She paused momentarily while she hung up her coat and then replied, "Isn't this nice? Hanging out?"

"Sure."

"I've had fun both times. You?"

"Yea."

"We're good like this…as friends."

"We're _not_ friends," he answered immediately.

"Sure we are. Or…we're becoming friends."

"I don't want to be your friend. I told you that before."

It was obvious that she was searching for words, her eyes filled with sadness, "You're just saying that to hurt me."

"I'm not. It's the truth."

"Fine, if it's not a friendship what would you like to call this?"

"An opportunity."

"How's that?" she scoffed.

"I have a chance to show you what it's like to spend your time with an actual man as opposed to that…overgrown toddler you've taken in."

"In this scenario, _you_ are the mature one?"

"I know how to have fun. But I can also use multisyllabic words and discuss things other than spy games and cartoons. Imagine the conversations you've had with him…and now imagine those same conversations repeating for the next decade."

"Not everyone is a genius."

"He's safe…obedient. I'm more interesting, more exciting and much better in bed. Do you really want to spend the next few years bored, uninspired and sexually frustrated?"

"What makes you think I'm any of those things?"

He smirked knowingly, ignoring her question. "And this is your chance to recognize and correct the gigantic mistake you made when you chose him over me." Before she could really respond, he added, "Thanks for the movie."

Uncomfortably lost, she replied, "Sure."

"I can keep up the act though, if it makes you feel better." He leaned down, pressing his cheek to hers, his stubble scratching along her skin. She moved her face toward his, instinctively, and then felt the soft touch of his lips below her cheekbone for a second before he pulled away. He stood completely upright, remaining just as close. "Since you did that the last time we played friends, I figured that was the goodbye protocol."

Barely nodding, she stood still with an almost completely blank expression.

"Good night," he added succinctly as he walked out the door.

After he left, she tried to direct her mind to the appropriate reaction. She should have been frustrated by the entire discussion about her relationship, offended by his audacity, furious that he insulted her choices in that way. Sitting down in the chair behind her desk, her attempt at a suitable reaction faded into an unintentional smile.


	2. Half-Way

_A/N-Thank you so much to all who have favorited and followed this new story, and to all who left a comment: IHeartHouseCuddy, jaybe61, Huddylovelover, OldSFfan, BabalooBlue, linda12344, LoveMyHouse, ikissedtheLaurie, housebound, lenasti16, LapizSilkwood, Huddyphoric, Abby, THE Nick' Amaral, MissBates, iridescentZEN, HuddyGirl, grouchysnarky, freeasabird14, Alex, Jane Q. Doe, JLCH, bladesmun, Guest, MrsBock, JM, Boo's House, HuddyAleja, Ann, and dmarchl21._

_Thanks for your continued patience. Here's the next chapter._

* * *

**-Half-Way-**

House wondered if Cuddy would continue ignoring his obvious intentions exactly as she had since his return from Mayfield. After all, he had expected something to come from his confession as they'd danced one evening, and all that had come from that was humiliation without the buffer of pain-reducing chemicals between reality and the man who continued to exist after Vicodin was gone.

But she didn't exactly disappear after they started spending time together. Occasionally she'd stop at his table at lunch, or they would exchange words somewhere in the hospital corridors. They even continued meeting after work when both of their schedules permitted. Nothing really progressed either, and part of him wondered if she was trying to prove through persistent, casual interactions that they were friends in spite of his denials.

She walked down the hall late one afternoon, her heels clicking purposefully toward whatever task was on her current to-do list. Her forward motion was ceased and reversed when one precise hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her into the janitor's closet. Practically running into House's chest, she struck as much of a defensive pose as she could before she realized who had pulled her inside.

"What in the hell are you doing?" she half laughed while her racing heart rate returned to normal.

"I was doing important stuff when I heard you stiletto-ing by."

"What sort of important stuff?"

"A cross between hide-and-go-seek with my team and a zen–meditation retreat."

"There are too many chemicals in here for that. Next time I go for a retreat weekend, I'll have to invite you. I don't think you quite have it right."

"A weekend away?" he asked as if the thought was scandalous, "it's a little early in this relationship to suggest that. I might get the impression that we're getting really serious."

She smirked in a way that was both friendly and cautionary, "So was there a reason you dragged me in here, or was this just for kicks?"

"Tonight, if you're free, dinner?"

"I am free."

"Does that mean yes?"

"Sure."

"You've planned most of our dates so far, so I'll figure out this one."

"This is not a date."

"OK. Rendezvous? Get-together? Tryst?"

"Let's go with get-together. What time and where?"

"Wilson's. Six-thirty."

"Sounds good," she answered with a quick smile. She turned to leave the closet and paused when something dawned on her, "How do you know Lucas is busy tonight?"

"Luck?"

"You guessed my password again, didn't you? Did you listen to my voicemail?"

House shrugged and stared, offering no solid answer in reply.

"See you later, House," she said they walked out, right into the path of Chase, who did nothing at all to mask the knowing look on his face.

"Inventory," she explained quickly before she sped off down the hall.

Chase stared at House, "That closet's a popular spot."

"Were her legs weak? Was she flushed with an afterglow of extreme satisfaction? Was she acting as though she'd had a revelation of life-altering significance?"

The younger doctor looked on with skepticism, "No, she looked bored and humiliated, which is why I assumed she'd just had sex with you." House turned with a scowl that dripped with some form of pride before Chase held out a patient file and said, "It's definitely not scleroderma."

* * *

Cuddy showed up at Wilson's door with an expected addition: Rachel. House opened the door when he heard the knock, his eyes swooping momentarily over the little girl on Cuddy's hip before returning to Cuddy. He tilted his head to invite them in, emotionlessly.

"Marina couldn't stay late tonight," Cuddy explained, "I just found out and I didn't want to cancel last minute."

"It's fine," House answered. "Besides, when you date a woman who has a kid, the kid is obviously going to be around sometimes."

"We aren't dating-"

"When you're rendezvousing with a woman with a kid?"

"Where's Wilson?"

"He's taking Sam to do something really Sammish."

"Could you watch Rachel for a second? I need to use the bathroom." He reached out, taking the somewhat suspicious child from Cuddy's arm. If he had any feelings at all about the child's presence, either positive or negative, it wasn't apparent in his expression.

"Use mine," House pointed in the right direction before walking toward the kitchen. Cuddy wasn't gone long, and when she returned, the child was sitting on the counter between plates, watching while House dished out food. As she came closer, Cuddy could see Rachel was chewing something, the remnants of which could be seen through the messy smile.

"What's she eating?"

"Probably dog food or a dead mouse or something," House answered.

"You don't have a dog."

"I keep a bag around for when kids visit. Which is not often, so it's probably expired." He waited in front of a dish that was covered and told her, "Close your eyes."

She sat on the stool by the kitchen island and looked at him with great distrust.

"What exactly do you think I'm going to do?" he scoffed.

"I don't know."

"People say I have trust issues."

She closed her eyes, nervous rigidity emanating from her. Rachel giggled and spit at whatever House was doing, but he didn't make a sound. The air around Cuddy actually seemed to change when he stood directly in front of her.

"Now," he said with a tone of conspiracy, "all I need to do is figure out how to get this into your mouth."

Her hand went up in front of her, her eyebrows lifting with some concern, but her eyelids remaining shut.

He snickered, "Open up."

Her lips opened slowly, barely parting until she smelled something delicious in front of her. She leaned forward, biting off the food that touched her bottom lip, and she immediately offered a gibberish-filled approval. Her eyes opened, looking down at the remaining piece of fried plantain that he held. "Where did you get these?"

"You said there weren't any restaurants around here that served them, so I made them. Is this what you were talking about?"

"It's even better," she gushed, taking the second bite of food from between his fingers, a voluntary move that seemed to surprise him. "You knew how to make these?"

"I didn't, but it turns out there's more on the internet than porn. Who knew?"

Cuddy looked at her daughter, who was watching the two adults quizzically. "There's a child present."

"Which is why I didn't stick anything more exciting in your mouth," he teased. "I don't think she'll be too scathed by me saying the word 'porn' once before she was even old enough to remember the word."

Ignoring him, Cuddy responded, "These plantains are so good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Help yourself. The kid likes the mashed up plantains. Unless there's something else you want her to have?"

"That's great."

"I'll get her a knife, and she can serve herself," House answered, looking up and finding Cuddy smiling happily. "What?"

"This is nice."

Dinner was informal. Rachel stayed on the counter, eating whatever could be mashed up enough for her to eat. House and Cuddy sat at the counter and found that conversation was even easier than it had been the last time they had eaten together. There was a peculiar balance between a feeling of being completely at ease while entirely uncomfortable.

After dinner, Rachel started whining unhappily. "I better go," Cuddy said, regretfully, "she's tired, I have to put her to bed."

"Or she can have my bed," House offered, "so her mother can stay up and play for a while."

Cuddy looked like the suggestion was a poor one, but after a few moments of uncertainty replied, "We can try it."

The girl was so sleepy that it only took a few minutes for her to settle. Cuddy built walls of blankets and pillows around the slumbering girl so she couldn't roll off the bed. House watched as all of the preparations were made, fascinated and somewhat entertained by the extent and thoroughness employed.

Her eyes remaining on the bed as she stepped away, Cuddy seemed concerned about leaving the child. "I hope she's alright there."

"We could staple her clothes to the bed to make sure she doesn't roll away."

Cuddy glowered for a moment, a look that faded as she came closer. He was leaning against the doorway, waiting as she asked, "What do you want to do now?"

His gaze crept along her face, settling on her eyes in a way that was filled with admiration and longing. Bumping his arm casually with her elbow, she walked past him into the living room. Pieces of her guard seemed to be disappearing the longer they spent time together. She stopped in front of the electric organ Wilson had bought, pushing down on the silent keys. "Do you play?" he asked as he turned on the instrument.

"Part of 'Chopsticks' maybe…if I'm lucky. Is this gonna wake Rachel?"

He hit another button and shook his head, "Nah, go ahead."

Standing over the organ, she managed to play 'Happy Birthday' with only a few miss keys.

"Impressive," he commented with a smirk. "I had no idea you were so musically gifted."

"I have plenty of other strengths that make up for what I lack musically."

"I won't argue that." House sat down on the bench, "Play it again."

She offered the suggestion more consideration than required, but eventually slipped into place next to him. "You want another chance to make fun of me?"

"Not right now. I'll do that after you play."

She began, slowly finding the notes to the song. He placed his right palm flat on the bench behind them so she could feel his forearm brushing along her hip. His left hand hovered over the keys for a few seconds before he started to add an appropriate bass line. She smiled at him when she was finished, sinking into the feeling of closeness between them.

He slowly played a very simple bass line a few times through. "Try that."

When she started playing the notes with her right hand, he shook his head disapprovingly while he lifted her left hand from her lap and placed it on the keys. "Now do it," he instructed, playing it again so she could mimic the notes.

After a few tries, she was able to play the song using both hands, smiling at him with surprise and pride.

"Too bad it's not my birthday."

"I can come back and play it then."

Before he could respond, his phone rang. When he answered, his eyes darted to her for a second before he told the person on the other end, "OK. Just keep an eye on things for a few more hours."

He hung up immediately, pointing at the organ and encouraging, "Do it again."

His fingers rested on the keys as he waited. She lifted her hands to a similar position, but she quickly dropped them in her lap, "Was that Lucas?"

"Who?"

She glared an admonishment, "Was it?"

"It may have been someone who answers to that name."

"You hired him to do something tonight?"

Before House managed to mount a defense, he asked, "Exactly how angry are you?"

She traced a few black keys with her index finger and then turned toward him, "I should be angry. But I had a nice evening."

"So we don't have a problem. Let's play."

Largely because she wasn't sure what to say, she began to play again. This time, he played with her, adding notes to the song that transformed it to something new and beautiful that she couldn't have managed on her own. When the song was over, she asked, playfully, "So these are your new moves?"

"Cooking is definitely a new move. But if you mean the music lesson, that is a really, really old move."

"How old?"

"High school."

"Does it usually work?"

"Depends on the girl. Some girls you invite to lacrosse games, some you impress with your medical magic, some you give piano lessons to. It's about knowing your target female."

"For this female, you made really good choices."

"To you, my medical magic is old news, and I can't really play lacrosse anymore."

"You can't send Lucas on a mission every time you want to hang out."

"I won't have to once you break up with him."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"That wasn't a metaphor. I thought I was pretty clear about what I think you should do."

"It's not that simple."

"It is, I'll sum it up for you. Break up with him. Date me for a few months, declare they're the best months of your life and ask me to marry you. Seems really simple."

Her eyes popped open with surprise, "Seems a bit fast."

"I don't do half-way, Cuddy. You know that."

"I'm trying to make good decisions. I'm trying not to hurt anyone."

"And in the process, you're hurting me."

"I need to think things through, make the right choices for my daughter."

"That's not it. You want to keep him because he's safe, but you still want me because I'm who _you_ really want. You're going half-way to vacation and deciding to stay at the airport on a layover just in case there's bad weather at the final destination. I don't want to settle for half-way. Half-way never, ever works for me. Half-way is my leg. Half-way leaves me with something useless, ugly and painful."

"I'm sorry about your leg."

"Now _that_ actually _was _a metaphor. I'm not looking for an apology. I didn't have a choice about my leg. That decision was made for me. I don't want to wait around for someone to choose the safe route here too. I can't let the rest of my life turn out like my leg."

"I'm not the answer to your pain."

"I'm not asking you to be. A lot of my life is about pain, but this isn't. This is about something…different."

"Things have changed, House. You need to understand that I'm trying to get to know you now that you're not popping Vicodin like candy."

"OK, I can help you with that. I'm me…minus the Vicodin."

"How do I know that this isn't just a game that you're playing with Lucas?"

"Do you really think that?"

"I don't know. I do know that I'm always most appealing to you when you think you can't have me. I also know that you and Lucas have a history of competitive behavior."

"So I'm doing all of this to get to Lucas and then I'm just going to forget about you?"

"It's what I'm prepared for. I wasn't prepared for these evenings together. I didn't expect any of this. And…I guess I'm not sure if it's real, or if I'm part of a bigger game."

"If you think that's true, then why are you here?"

"Because…I can't stay away. I can't stop thinking about you…about what could be. I like this. I want _this_." Eventually she turned toward him, clearing her throat and adding, "I'd like it to be real."

One corner of his mouth turned up, his hand returning to the bench between them as he leaned a little closer. "So what's the reality litmus test? Maybe you should just give things a try and then you'll see that this isn't a game."

Their lips brushed momentarily, her fingers surrounding his chin to stop his forward progress. "I need to resolve some things before starting anything else."

House faced forward, rubbing the scruff on the side of his face, clearly disappointed. The back of Cuddy's hand bumped his arm to get his attention as she explained, "Give me a few days. I'll talk to Lucas tomorrow. Thursday morning, I leave for a presentation in DC. When I get back, we can have dinner, talk."

"Sure," he agreed, seeming to accept the inevitability of defeat for the moment.

"If something were to happen between us tonight, we would be starting a relationship with an act of infidelity. It sets the stage for future mistrust."

"We can count this as a warm up, and actually start the real relationship when you get back from your presentation."

She smiled and shook her head, the fact that she was tempted to accept his offer was apparent in everything about her demeanor.

Sensing a crack in her resolve, he added, "You should probably take a test drive anyway, so you know what you're getting. Buyer beware."

"You aren't defective," she argued with unanticipated severity.

He was too stunned to respond, but her phone pierced the silence. Slipping off the bench with a quick apology, she went to her purse and sighed worriedly. Her voice was flat as she answered, "Hey Lucas. Are you done with work?"

She fidgeted as she listened to him, finally replying, "I'm out for dinner with someone from the hospital. Rachel's with me."

Her fidgeting ceased at whatever Lucas said next. House could see how uncomfortable she became before she walked to the window near the kitchen and gazed down at the street below. Lifting her hand, she waved with one gesture across the glass. "He _is _someone from the hospital," she explained.

Cuddy faced House, offering a non-verbal apology as she kept the phone against her ear, finally replying, "I was leaving soon anyway. I'll meet you at my place, we can talk there."

With little pause, she hung up the phone, gathering her things to leave. "I'm sorry, but this is exactly why I need to take care of him first."

"So what does this mean for me? For…you and me?"

Stopping her preparations, she stood in front of him to ensure she had his attention, "It means the same thing it meant before he called. In a way, it's good. This leads into the conversation I need to have with him."

"Yea," House answered, dejectedly. "I can keep Rachel here, if you want. She's already sleeping."

The depth of his gesture touched her, she could hear in his voice how reluctant he was to make the offer, "It's OK. We'll be fine."

He watched as she walked to his room, a feeling of impending unhappiness filling his mind. Catching up to her, her pulled her away from his door and pushed her against the wall, "Just in case you decide I was the mistake instead of him-"

He lowered his lips to hers, finding that she was not resistant, but eagerly wrapping her arms around his neck and returning the kiss. Their breaths were heavy with want, each engaging in more contact than was probably appropriate, but so much less than what was truly desired. Their mouths parted regretfully, his arms still tightly around her waist and hers still draped over his shoulders.

"Do you have any idea how much I wish I could stay tonight?" she asked.

"So stay."

"And we would have a great time. But in the morning, you'd find out that you're half-way, which is exactly where you_ don't_ want to be. You're right, you deserve more. We both do."

"Sometimes the words you choose to remember are the worst ones."

"I know," she replied, her smile fading as she saw the defeated look on his face. "Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine. When I get back from DC, we'll see each other."

It only took a few minutes for her to get Rachel and leave the apartment. He watched from his window as Cuddy put her daughter safely into the car seat and left.

Wilson and Sam came in a few minutes later. After Sam disappeared down the hall, Wilson asked, "Was…Cuddy here?"

House leaned back into the sofa, "Yup."

"I thought I saw her leaving. How was that?"

"Fine."

"Does her visit indicate anything in particular?"

"I'm not sure. She only seemed interested in dancing around the apartment, wearing nothing but your ties and a pocket protector. Of course pocket protectors are particularly difficult to use when one isn't wearing any clothing…"

Wilson scowled, "Part of me thought that without Vicodin you would be more mature about the disturbing statements that you make. The ones that leave images in my mind that are always a bit more difficult to get rid of than I want to admit."

"Oh, I'm definitely more mature. If I was still on Vicodin, I would have told you that we used one of your ties in depraved explorations of our lust, but I wouldn't tell you which tie." Exasperated, Wilson began to walk away until he heard House add, tentatively, "It might mean something. I don't know. I guess I'll find out when she's back from DC."

Wilson returned to the room, "Right, the presentation. And until then? She doesn't actually expect you to wait patiently for her return."

"It seems that way."

"Well, I know how comfortable you are with taking a wait-and-see approach," Wilson answered with dripping sarcasm. He added as noncommittally as possible, "Rachel is staying with her grandmother for a night while Cuddy is gone. I guess she'll be staying all alone at the _Fairmount in Georgetown _Thursday into Friday…where she will also be speaking Thursday afternoon. Anyway, I'm going to bed. Good night."


	3. Answers

_A/N-Thank you to all of the reviewers of the last chapter: JLCH, BabalooBlue, OldSFfan, jaybe61, JM, IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, Huddylovelover, Abby, lenasti16, linda12344, HuddyGirl, Alex, freeasabird14, LoveMyHouse, housebound, housefan, HuddyAleja, bere, Boo's House, A, MrsBock, Jane Q. Doe, the Guest reviewers, grouchysnarky, dmarchl21, Lapiz Silkwood, and somebadhat. _

_I'm sorry I'm not posting more frequently, if I could find the time if I would. I promise, I'm not holding out. __ This is sort of long, but I didn't know where to break it. Again, I appreciate your patience. I'm planning on continuing this story a bit longer._

* * *

**-Answers-**

By Thursday morning, House had already put his plan into motion. Going to see Cuddy at a conference seemed the ideal next step. Part of it almost felt like a chance for redemption after the last conference they'd attended. In some ways, it was like a case that he'd replayed in his mind a hundred times, trying to figure out how he could have arranged a more favorable outcome. He tried not to think too much about what he'd do if she hadn't ended it with Lucas, but the thought was persistent. Life consistently taught him that hope was the alluring predecessor of disappointment. There was one fact that punctuated his concern: he hadn't heard from Cuddy since she left Wilson's apartment.

Before Wilson went to work that Thursday, he stopped in House's room. "I just don't understand what silence is supposed to accomplish. Is this _really _the best time for games?"

House looked up from the bag he was packing, "I took the hint, I'm going to DC."

"Is that really the best idea? Since she left here, you've done nothing but ignore her. I'm not even sure if she wants you to show up."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"When she asked me last night if you were alright…I figured you needed some time. But she just called me. The least you could do is answer a text or one damn phone call. I think she was worried about you, worried that maybe you got shitfaced and broke into someone's apartment again. I just don't understand why you're doing this. Unless…unless you really don't _want_ to be happy."

House shook his head with displeased confusion, "I'm not quite sure why this joke is supposed to be funny."

"Just be an adult. Tell her you don't want her. I heard she broke up with Lucas. I don't know if she'll want to try to fix things with him or find someone new, but…let her go."

"She broke up with him?" House asked, cautiously relieved but still disoriented.

"Yea."

"If she would have called or sent a text, I would have answered it."

"She called you…more than once."

Something dawned on House, so he went to his dresser and picked up his phone, looking down at a complete lack of messages, missed calls or voicemail alerts. "Call my phone."

Wilson was at first incredulous and then uncertain, but he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. House's phone never rang and never went to voicemail. Wilson sent a text, and House's phone did nothing. "Probably Lucas," House commented flatly.

"How?"

"I've seen him transfer numbers before. If he transfers my number to a phone he has, he gets my calls."

"You need to go. Go explain."

House picked up his bag, moving on instinct rather than any careful plan. "What did she say?"

"Just that she tried to call you and she was concerned. I may have…tried to fish for answers about Lucas. She mentioned that they are no longer seeing each other, but she wasn't exactly generous with details."

First grabbing his cane and bag, House headed for the door. He stopped for a moment, turning back to Wilson, "How angry did she sound? Clenching jaw angry? Mildly annoyed angry?"

After recalling the earlier conversation, Wilson answered, "She didn't sound _angry_. She sounded sad, disappointed. I told her you seemed fine when I saw you, and she said she was glad you were OK."

Before the words evaporated from the air, House was leaving for DC.

* * *

The nearly four hour drive was an irritating impediment. It seemed comically tragic, to be so close to something only to watch it slip away. He wasn't even entirely sure if she'd give him time to explain.

When he walked into the hotel, he saw her almost immediately. She was sitting on a sofa in the lobby, her luggage next to her. House guessed that she was waiting for her room to become available. The thought of approaching her made him far more nervous than he liked. He could feel his body's alert readiness while he drew closer, and then he stopped dead in his tracks. His hope sunk down into the ground when he saw Lucas walk in and take a seat directly in front of Cuddy.

Cuddy reached out, taking one of Lucas' hands between hers. The sight was almost crushing until House saw Cuddy slowly shake her head. She offered a steady explanation, but the expression on Lucas' face was telling. When he began to counter whatever she had said, Cuddy held her hands up, unwavering in her denial. The conversation went on for several minutes. Once it was clear what was happening, House moved to a less conspicuous spot and waited until Lucas finally stood, said a few more parting words, and left the lobby.

Once she was alone, House decided to make his presence known, wondering if she would dispatch of him as quickly as she had dismissed Lucas. An attendant from the hotel approached her, politely turning over a key card and gesturing for the elevator before he took her luggage. House paused before following, realizing that he didn't want to make it too easy for her to retreat into her room and lock the door before he had a chance to explain.

He waited until well after the conference had begun, and with four name tags unclaimed by the rightful attendees, House elected to impersonate Dr. Parker De Vers. He shuffled through the conference handouts, looking for the meeting room where he would find Cuddy. She was one of the main speakers, there to discuss her hospital's innovative pandemic response plan.

Her session was held in a large ballroom where hundreds of participants gathered to listen. House took a spot near the back. There was a sense of pride in him as he listened to what she had accomplished. She had often asked him for his input about her pandemic response plan, but he diligently avoided involvement every time she brought it up to him. Apparently, her plan was determined to be one of the best in the country.

His sense of pride soon became a sense of boredom, because she was scheduled to speak for over an hour, but after the planned part of her speech, there was an hour long question-and-answer session. Even after that part of the meeting was over, Cuddy offered to remain behind for anyone who had any questions that weren't already answered. House's patience was definitely reaching its end when he saw eight people gather at the front to talk to her.

There was a momentary thought of mentioning that he had tons of questions that weren't answered in her presentation, but he decided that probably wasn't the best way to get a favorable reaction. When there was only one person left to speak to Cuddy, House walked over to the piano in the front corner of the room, and began to play "Happy Birthday," the same song they had played together. He played as simply as possible, using only one hand. Cuddy finally turned and acknowledged his presence without a scowl or smile to let him know where he stood.

He continued to play until the last person was leaving, and Cuddy began gathering her presentation materials. "Care to join me?" he called loudly across the space.

"No thanks," she answered curtly.

"Looks like you were a hit."

"It went well," she said without turning away from her duties.

He began walking toward the stage, "I didn't want to wait until tomorrow night to talk to you."

She turned, making an obvious attempt to remain cool, "You won. Good job, House."

"This doesn't feel like winning."

"It's what you wanted. I fell for it. I dumped Lucas. I wanted you. What else do you want? You want a photograph to commemorate the moment? Or the key to my chastity belt?"

"A chastity belt would definitely not be my first choice."

She picked up handouts, standing them up so she could align them. The sound of the paper tapping the table was her only response.

"Wilson said you were trying to reach me," he continued when he realized his attempt at levity was not only ignored, but it was making things worse.

"Yea. I _was_. I tried calling you right after I spoke to Lucas. I didn't want you to be waiting for an answer. I felt that was unfair," she said, more angrily. "And then you decided you weren't speaking to me. You couldn't tell me you were alright so I didn't have to worry. So I didn't have to ask Wilson if you were alive. I was really worried that something happened to you…that maybe it had to do with me."

"Why not go back to Lucas then…after you realized that I wasn't answering?"

"Go back?" she scoffed with thorough irritation.

"Yea. He'd take you back."

She dropped her materials on the table, looking directly at House. Her voice was one step below yelling, "I realized that if I was willing to leave him to be with someone else…he wasn't who I wanted anyway. I'd rather be alone than settle for someone. I'm fine with being alone. I guess I should thank you for helping me realize that."

"Call my phone."

"No. I don't want to play today."

"Call it." He held his phone out, face up in his palm while she reluctantly went to her purse to dig out her cell. She dialed and looked down at his hand when she didn't hear a ring.

"You broke your phone to avoid talking to me?"

"I think Lucas had the number transferred to a different phone."

She quietly contemplated.

"He's done it before, I've seen him," House added.

She finally nodded her agreement, "He's mentioned doing that. You weren't avoiding me?"

"No. I was waiting to hear from you. Then I didn't see you at the hospital."

"Yesterday was crazy. I left early to get everything ready for Rachel."

"You could have tried reaching me other ways."

"If you didn't want to talk to me it seemed pointless to chase you down. Wilson said you were fine, so I let it go. And you could have called me."

"I was trying to give you space to get everything in order. I should have gone with my gut and followed you home. This is what I get for doing what you tell me to do instead of what I want to do. Remember this, my lack of ability to take direction is a good thing." She exhaled a subtle chuckle, but didn't respond, so he asked, "What were you going to tell me…if I would have answered when you called?"

"About what happened. Lucas and I talked for a long time. I told him that I didn't feel like it was working out. He asked if it had anything to do with you. I told him that I wanted to end it no matter what happened with you. But I also admitted that I had feelings for you and I thought you might have feelings for me."

"I'm good with all of that," he nodded with a hint of victory.

"He actually came down here to talk. I thought it was sweet…until I found out that he messed with your phone number and was probably trying to manipulate me."

"But you still didn't take him back."

"I made my decision."

"In a way, you got to dump him twice."

"It wasn't like that."

"It was. Don't fuck with my enjoyment of this moment."

She smiled reluctantly, her eyes dropping down for a second before meeting his. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area and I'm really concerned about Princeton-Plainsboro's pandemic readiness. Apparently you have that under control."

"Looks like."

"Maybe I can talk you into a post-presentation drink? I am one of the audience members with many unanswered questions."

Gathering her things in her arms, she descended from the stage and stood next to him, "I don't want to carry my conference stuff around."

House signaled to a hotel employee who was beginning to move chairs for the next event. When the young man approached, House asked, "Could you make sure her things and my bag make it up to room—"

Cuddy smirked at the attempt to find her room number, "913."

"Room 913?"

The employee shook his head, "I'm not part of guest services, I'm part of dining. There's a dinner here this evening we have to get ready for."

Digging in his pocket, House produced a generous monetary incentive, handed it to the young man and asked, "Is there any way you could find the time?"

In the next breath, House's money was accepted and their things were being taken to her room. They walked toward the hotel bar, finding many of the conference attendees gathered there. Cuddy could scarcely take a step without someone introducing themselves or asking for her input. She noticed as she inched closer to the bar between interruptions that House had disappeared.

She was politely trying to leave a conversation that she couldn't seem to end when she heard House's voice, "Dr. Cuddy? I'm Parker De Vers. You were supposed to be in a meeting with me nearly fifteen minutes ago."

Cuddy's surprise worked well as embarrassment, "I sincerely apologize," she said, trying not to smirk at him, "I must have lost track of time."

"_You're_ Parker De Vers?" one of the doctors who was previously occupying Cuddy's time asked.

"Good to meet you," House responded, the look of courteous professionalism almost more out of place than Cuddy could stand. "I'm sorry, I really need to meet with Dr. Cuddy."

"Sure, be my guest," the infringing doctor replied with a great deal of confusion.

"What's _his_ problem?" House asked Cuddy while they made their retreat.

"I think he was a little confused."

"About?"

Cuddy guided him to a spot across from the registration tables and pointed at a very angry person waiting there.

"That," Cuddy explained, "is the real Parker De Vers. She speaks at many conferences. People know her."

House looked at the rather elegant-looking, tall blond who was trying to negotiate her entry into the conference. "Wow…I have great legs," he commented matter-of-factly.

"They won't quit," Cuddy concurred. "Give me the name badge."

"How can I attend sessions and learn important things?" he whined, "I was dying to network with my colleagues."

"Do you really want to have dinner with a bunch of doctors and talk about medicine, or do you want to order room service and eat upstairs?"

"With you?"

"I'm not sure if I'd trust you alone in my room with my stuff," she jabbed, "so yea, I'll join you."

"You're not going to skip work-related activities."

"I didn't sign up for any. I only came here to give my presentation and have an evening away from everything. But we can go learn about…," she paused while she looked at the conference sign nearest them, "'How a Smile Can Reduce Malpractice Suits.' Then we can have dinner with people who want to talk to me about stuff that you can't stand being bothered with. Sounds fun!"

He immediately pulled off the name tag and held it out to her. Cuddy delivered the pilfered item to the real Dr. De Vers, who seemed relieved to have it but still concerned about what had actually happened. Cuddy made her way back to House, taking his arm and cautioning as they stepped on the elevator, "We better get out of here and lay low tonight. She was really upset, going off about you impersonating a doctor."

"I _am_ a doctor."

"You're not _that _doctor. And I don't think that would make her feel any better." House reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a fifth of scotch while she spoke, "Where did you get that?"

"Bartender. I can tell you don't do this often."

"A whole fifth, smartass?" she asked as she took it from his hand and enjoyed a hefty sip.

"Just in case we didn't make it back to the bar."

"Just in case?" she smirked cockily. "Do you have your own room?"

"913?" he asked instead of answered.

"My room? Kind of presumptuous."

"Optimistic," he corrected.

They stepped off the elevator and walked toward Cuddy's room. It was nice, not a suite, but somewhat luxurious and certainly comfortable. House went to the patio doors, sliding them open and walking outside as she followed. The courtyard was below their room, with neatly trimmed shrubs decorated with tiny white lights. It was a beautiful sight from the ninth floor. Occasional notes could be heard from music being played somewhere in the hotel, but not enough for them to determine the song.

As they gazed down into the courtyard, walls colored by the dusky sun, Cuddy mentioned, "Two conferences in a year…isn't that a record for you?"

"I attended both of them to get to you, so I'm not sure if it counts. But, if I would have had my way," he said as he faced her, "we would have danced to more than one song the last time. And you wouldn't have left after I told you the truth."

Cuddy was avoiding his eyes for the moment, "You took me completely off-guard, and I had no idea what to do about it."

Pulling her toward him, he wrapped one arm around her, "But you know what to do about it now?"

"Yea."

He held her close as they danced informally, and then added, "So in case your memory of the last conference is less than perfect, I told you that I've had a thing for you since I met you. I also mentioned that, until everything fell apart, I wanted to know if there could be something between us. You didn't really respond to that."

"I've wondered about that so many times."

"See now _that_ would have been a much better answer."

Cuddy lifted on her toes, gently settling her lips against his before she lowered back down to the ground. Her expression was amorous to say the least, waking his body and mind to the possibility that he was on her balcony, she was available, and _she_ was the one closing the space between them. She lifted her chin toward him again, suggesting a response. He moved similarly in consent, his one hand covering the center of her back as they neared.

As soon as their lips met again, the kiss deepened. Their bodies pressed closely together, conforming to each other's shape. They relied on quickly stolen breaths as they kissed, since parting seemed an impossible prospect. There was a whistle from some other balcony, enough to remind her that their spot wasn't as private as it seemed. "Come inside," she whispered, provoking the tightening grip of his hands.

He stepped into the room with her, immediately tasting the skin at the meeting of her neck and shoulder, moving along the dip to her collarbone. Without turning, she reached out, her fingers fumbling blindly for the door handle and making an attempt to close it. She started wriggling out of her jacket while trying to close the curtain over the door. It wouldn't slide shut, so she separated from him, "Just a second."

Watching her as she went to the curtain and began adjusting the pull chain, he couldn't get over the slightly stunned feeling that something was actually happening between them. He was convinced that at some point, he'd wake from a dream to see his desk or empty bedroom.

House came up beside her, leaning against the back of a chair as he watched. His hands surrounded her waist and guided her back toward him. Slipping his fingers under her shirt to feel the smoothness of her skin, he asked, lightly, "Do you know how much I want this?"

She giggled softly while she turned in his arms, "Your hand up my shirt?"

"Among other things," he answered deeply, his eyes slipping playfully along her face before he lifted her shirt over her head.

When it took him too long to continue, she reached for him, removing his jacket and shirt, and feeling the heat of his body against her skin.

With feather-like delicateness, her fingers traced each of his shoulders, sliding down with nearly weightless exploration. She followed over the flat surface of his breastbone and down his stomach so she could open his belt. After his jeans were gone, she stepped one foot between his, the entire length of her thigh pressing against his leg. Their limbs were partially entwined, sending quick images through his mind that existed in near virtual reality where all of his senses seemed alerted to exactly what she was going to feel like.

Pulling her by the hips while he sat on the coffee table, he only allowed her skirt to descend once he was seated. His hands smoothed over her thighs, feeling the subtle but undeniable contours of muscle. He had so often imagined finding himself between those very thighs. He'd fantasized about wrapping her legs around his hips or neck as he pumped inside her, daydreamed about being close enough to taste her wetness, or visualized his fingers disappearing into the warmth of her body.

He kissed each of her hips as he helped her undress. His mouth hovered in front of a nipple for a second before his tongue soothed over it and he pulled it into his mouth, sucking greedily.

He certainly wasn't gentle, but then she wasn't hoping for gentle. She wanted the urgency of him, the gruffness, the unrelenting man who had chased her. She wanted to be taken, loved, fucked by this man. The meticulousness of his attention couldn't be mistaken for indifference or patience, the desire was in his eyes, that deep craving that seemed so much more intense since he was clean.

Lowering his head, his tongue dove between the folds of her sex. He didn't allow her legs to open any more than they were, because his hands were still on her outer thighs, intentionally limiting the contact. All that she could feel was the slippery dart of his tongue, and then the way that the tip of it would curl up against her before leaving. Although her legs couldn't open very far, her hips could tip forward, and they did, although so subtly that she didn't even realize that she was moving in time with him.

She grabbed his hands from her hips, linking her fingers through his before she straddled his lap. She wanted him to be inside her when she came. She wanted to feel the sensations that she had been longing for since they'd played the organ in Wilson's apartment.

Her hands surrounded the thickness of his erection for only a moment before he grabbed them in the same interlocked way that she had held his. Neither of them wanted foreplay anymore, he craved the sensation of their meeting bodies as much as she did. She moved against him, not yet allowing him inside her, but letting him feel the warmth of being against her sex.

Her efforts to drive him crazy with desire were backfiring, because the fat tip of his cock was rubbing and bumping against her in a way that was still pushing her closer to orgasm. When she lifted, she looked down between them, hovering her body above him like an offering. He let go of her hand for a moment to guide himself into her because he didn't want a hesitant or clumsy attempt. He wanted to plunge into her.

She seemed to have the same desire, her legs wrapping around him, the heels of her feet resting on the table behind his back. Gravity and the decisive motions they each made drove him into her. Her mouth gaped open when the need to be fucked felt like it was finally being met. Her eyes focused on his, seeing his gaze lifted softly up toward the ceiling while he slowly exhaled. The man was overcome, in need of being taken by the very thing he wanted to take for himself.

They were moving consciously, allowing their bodies to merge and meld before the friction of departure and the hungry return to unity. This smooth, erotic dance was hard to maintain as patience grew weary. Grabbing onto her ass, his coordination of their movements became more fervent, more raw in its desperation.

He lifted her, moving onto the floor before he rolled her under him. And then they started really fucking, every move unfiltered and honest. She didn't even seem to slowly peak, her orgasm gripped her with a suddenly bolt of pleasure that made her cry out, her fingers digging into his sides and back or wherever they seemed to touch while her hips kept crashing against his. The sounds of her, that hint of his name in her scream, the grip of her body and the scratch of her nails cost him what control his mind still had, allowing instinct and the urge to chase pleasure govern him. He came with the same demanding, sudden, gripping type of orgasm, continuing to move until the energy that kept them going seemed to drain entirely.

When the disorientation that comes from mind-blowing sex faded, they came back to their present moment, finding the same caresses and lingering kisses that were there when they had begun. Both of them wanted to remain where they were, but it became too uncomfortable to stay on the rough carpet.

They stood, stretching a bit as they tried to realign themselves. House seemed to suddenly realize, "I am so hungry."

Cuddy sort of laughed, "That's the first thing you say to me after sex? I'm touched."

"I didn't eat today. So dinner? Unless you're making me leave."

"Definitely _not_ making you leave. Order something, charge it to the room."

"Where are you going?"

"Before we eat, I'm going to shower," she said, kissing him quickly before she disappeared.

He started to look over the menu when he realized what he was missing. He hurriedly called down an order, specifying the time when he wanted it delivered.

The bathroom was as nice as the rest of the room, with a large walk-in shower and a separate tub. Sitting down on the bench at the back of the spacious shower, he kicked his feet out in front of him, leaned back, folded his hands over his stomach and watched her. Cuddy was washing her hair, so with her eyes screwed shut she asked, "Is that you?"

"It's room service," House answered, "the guy with the limp told me I could watch you shower in exchange for food."

She managed to clear most of the water away from her face, and peered at him through squinted eyes. "I'm so happy he's willing to sell me for food," she wryly answered, continuing her shower without kicking him out or covering herself in anyway.

He started to spout off a list. "That was amazing. You're the hottest woman ever. Wow…," she cocked her head, uncertain as to why he was rattling off these things like he was reading a catalog. "The list of things you would have rather heard after sex instead of 'I'm so hungry,'" he explained before he continued his recitation, "Can I stay? Thanks for picking me, hope you don't regret it."

"You were the only choice I wanted to make," she interrupted, walking across the stone-colored tiles toward where he sat.

When she reached out for his hand, he took it, stepping under the hot, forceful spray from the shower head. While he touched her slick, soapy body, he asked, "So, can I stay?"

"Stay," she sighed, moving to facilitate each of his new touches before she remembered, "Wait. Food. When are they coming up?"

He leaned, licking along a rivulet of water that streamed from her neck to her breast, "An hour. I didn't want to miss the shower."

She slung her arms around his neck, and added seductively, "I'll do my best to help you pass the time."


	4. Having

_A/N-Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter: Huddylovelover, JM, BabalooBlue, JLCH, jaybe61, linda12344, lenasti16, Robin, freeasabird14, ikissedtheLaurie, IHeartHouseCuddy, hfspc, Boo's House, Huddyphoric, Abby, HuddyGirl, Tamires, grouchysnarky, Alex, THE Nick' Amaral, CacauHousemaniaca, HuddyAleja, Paula, Suzieqlondon, LoveMyHouse, dmarchl21, and LapizSilkwood._

_I don't expect this story to be of epic proportions, but I have the outlines written for 3 chapters after this. I'd like to cover some of the things that could have happened in a relationship between them if they were both willing to work on keeping it._

* * *

**-Having-**

House was awake for nearly an hour before Cuddy began to stir. For a long time, he stayed exactly where he was, allowing her to rest against him. Although so much of their relationship was defined by the ways that they clashed, they fit just as aptly. While she slept, his hands brushed the long stretch of her back, his fingers traced her arms and his leg followed hers as he tried to adjust to the feeling of _having_.

Having was different. He understood chasing, missing and desiring, those were familiar sensations. As satisfying as finally having was, it was also unsettling. It was change. His mind went immediately to whatever would happen next, unable to enjoy the sensation of having for very long before he began to wonder about the point when having would become losing.

Cuddy grabbed the hand that was on her back and pulled him around her. She was still mostly asleep, so when she mumbled his name and curled up closer, it seemed strangely natural. Once he was wrapped around her again, absorbing the way that she felt, he tightened his arms so he could hold on to the feeling of having her for a little longer.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, House began to consider ways to continue having what he wanted. He still hadn't really returned to his apartment. Most nights he would go to Cuddy's for a while, usually returning to Wilson's in the early hours of the morning to get dressed and go to work. Cuddy said she wanted to wait a few weeks before Rachel realized that House was staying the night. He usually got up when he heard Rachel begin to toss and turn over the monitor, but Cuddy never asked him to leave even a second earlier. Still, he disliked the pointless line that was drawn around five-thirty or six each morning.

One morning when he went back to Wilson's, Sam was standing in the kitchen making breakfast. House and Sam exchanged obviously unpleasant glances before he poured himself a cup of coffee. "We need to talk," she said while she flipped egg whites in the skillet.

"I told you, I won't have sex with you. So stop begging," House yelled so he could be heard in other rooms.

Sam snarled her lip and continued, "Greg, I'm not really a kid person."

"All of those children who are up for adoption just breathed a collective sigh of relief."

"And Lisa's little…_girl_."

"What about her?"

"After a long day, I don't like to have to hear children whining when I just want to relax."

"I'm not fond of hearing adults whine before seven am either-"

"Greg," she interrupted, "Lisa and Rachel don't live here."

"Technically neither do you. Rachel's been here three times. One of those times, we all left as soon as you got here." He mumbled additionally, "What a strange coincidence."

"Twice just this week."

"We stopped by, we're usually at Cuddy's anyway. So stop using the kid as an excuse to complain and say what you mean."

Sam turned off the burner and folded her hands politely. "James and I are getting remarried."

"What?"

"For now, we're moving in together. If we decide to live here, I think that's too many people in one apartment. If we decide to live somewhere else, this place will have to be sold. James isn't your frat boy anymore. He's all grown up. If you want to keep a woman like Lisa…" Sam sort of chuckled snottily at the end, "never mind. I'm telling you this to save James the heartache. He likes you, god knows why, and I think asking you to leave would hurt him more than it would hurt you. If you care about him, I think you should do the right thing so he doesn't have to go through with kicking you out."

Wilson came in the kitchen before House could answer Sam's request, "Oh, hey House." Wilson smirked knowingly, "How's Cuddy?"

"Fine," House answered quietly.

"Is…everything OK?"

"Yup," House replied after a four-second pause, "I'm going to work."

Wilson looked at Sam, questioning House's abrupt and quiet departure. "Is he OK? Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened," Sam answered innocently, "I think it's just hard for him to share you."

* * *

Driving to work that morning felt a lot like the night Cuddy had originally asked him to go out to dinner. Once again, it was as if he didn't have a home. He started to consider a return to his own apartment, but he hadn't truly lived there since he left Mayfield. His mind fell into a familiar pattern and began to look for all of the things that were going to go wrong. He started to picture the end with Cuddy, the loss of Wilson, and long nights in his apartment.

When he walked into the lobby, Cuddy was waiting for him, signaling him to her office. He closed the door and flopped into a chair in front of her desk. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Right, I'm sure."

"It's nothing. What do you need?"

"It's a bad time for you, don't worry about it," she said, sounding dejected.

He shifted forward to leave but his annoyance abated slightly, "Did you know Wilson and Sam are getting married?"

"No, I didn't hear that. When did Wilson tell you?"

"He didn't."

"So who told you?"

"Sam."

"Oh," Cuddy said, dragging out the word. She leaned back against the desk in front of his chair, "House, there's something you should know about Sam."

"She's a manipulative friend-eater who is trying to destroy Wilson one bite at a time?"

"Apparently you already knew," Cuddy teased. "Look, she would probably say that she's worried you'll sabotage their relationship or something like that. But when it comes down to it, she _is_ jealous of your relationship with him."

"He won't even snuggle with me anymore, so what does she have to be jealous of?"

Cuddy grinned, "Poor House. Seriously though, Sam will destroy this relationship on her own without your help. Let her go. You will have Wilson long after Sam is gone. Just wait."

"Waiting sucks."

"If only you could find something or someone to help you pass the time."

He leered at her, feeling a little better but still a bit unsettled. "What did you want when you called me in here?"

"I needed a favor, I'll figure it out."

"What do you need?"

"Rachel is with my mother. But Mom has to run to Julia's tonight to watch her kids because my sister is sick. Mom offered to take Rachel along, but I don't really want her exposed to whatever they have."

"Are you asking me to babysit?"

"For about a half-hour until I get home. That's it."

"Sure."

"Well, that isn't the big part of the favor. You'd have to pick up Rachel at my mother's. I realize that I haven't exactly introduced you, and my mother is good at…provocation. So I'd ask that you try not to let her get to you and try to avoid any arguments. I'd go but I have one meeting to deal with this afternoon and then I don't have to work at all for the rest of the weekend. I could make it up to you."

"You would owe me?"

"If you prefer to say it that way."

"I really do prefer to say it that way."

He was getting ready to point out the inherent hypocrisy in the fact that Cuddy would allow him to pick up Rachel and take care of her, but he had to sneak out every morning before the kid saw him, when Cuddy said, "I thought maybe you'd like to bring a few of your things over. Maybe some clothes. I made a spot in my closet and you can have that tall a dresser. Don't feel pressured, I thought it would be nice if you could stay sometimes, if you wanted to."

"What about Rachel?"

"She can stay too."

His shoulders shook at her joke and he offered a bit of a smile, "I'll pick up Rachel at your mother's."

"You can take my car because of the car seat."

"You're alright with me driving your almost new luxury-mobile?"

"You think I'd be more worried about my car than my daughter?"

"How are _you_ getting home?"

"I'll drive your car."

He closed his eyes, relishing the image with a devilish grin, "You are going to drive my Dynasty?"

"You don't trust me with _your_ car?" she scoffed.

"Oh I do. I just want pictures of you in your perfectly professional suit and flawless hair, getting into that car and driving it home."

"Fine," she answered, walking back behind her desk and getting to work. "I'll email you directions to Mom's."

"I'll email you what I expect in repayment."

"Not to my work email."

She was looking for him to agree to the last thing she'd said, but she could tell he was deep in thought. And then she could see the exact moment when an answer dawned on him.

"Did you just solve your case?" she asked.

"Better. I need you at lunch."

She bit her lip, anticipating something sexual and exciting, and answered, "Yea, sounds good to me. As long as I'm back here by one-thirty."

* * *

She had been thinking about lunch since he mentioned it. They'd already enjoyed a few noontime trysts, and she certainly wasn't opposed to them. Sex with House was consistently amazing, and she wasn't about to deny the fact that she enjoyed it.

He drove them to his apartment. When they pulled up to the curb in front of his doorstep, she leaned toward him and asked, "Is there going to be some sort of costume I need to wear?"

"Not today."

They walked into his apartment. He looked around and allowed the memories he had of her there to surface, memories that were mostly born of hallucination. He wanted her there with him in a moment that was real. She slid her fingers down her neck, dragging them along her chest through her cleavage to the top button of her shirt. "What should I do?"

He stared out the window for a moment and said, "I want to give you something."

"OK," she answered, dropping her hands to her side when she realized the purpose of their meeting was serious.

He took her back to his bathroom and, with his hands on her shoulders, directed her to stand in the doorway. After disappearing for a moment, he returned with a screwdriver and walked to his mirror. He stared at his reflection while she waited behind him. Lifting the screwdriver, he angled it behind the mirror and used its leverage to pry it away from the wall. He could see Cuddy's confusion in the glass before he pulled it down and leaned it against the side of the tub. She peered around his shoulder and he stepped aside so she could come closer.

They looked at the exposed wall, at the hole dug there and the two bottles of Vicodin that were stashed with obvious premeditation. "That's the last of it," he commented.

She didn't try to grab the bottles, she slid her hand down his arm and laced her fingers with his. "Are you OK?"

"I'm very OK. If I wasn't, you wouldn't be seeing this."

He reached in, grabbed both bottles with his free hand and they walked over to the toilet. He lifted the lid, opening one bottle to hand to her, and then opening the second one for himself. They each held one, but he tilted his over the toilet to dump it, waiting for her to join him. She mirrored him, extending the bottle and waiting. "This has to be your choice, not mine," she cautioned.

"It _is_ my choice."

He took one pill between his fingers and they both dropped the contents of the two orange bottles into the water. He held the last pill up in front of his eyes, looking at the shape, at the powdery texture of the outside, regarding the tablet like someone who was once very cherished that he had outgrown. He opened his thumb and forefinger and they watched while the pill spun as it fell into the water with the rest. Everything had been done with such precision and thought, each step carefully executed, but he suddenly reached out and pressed the lever to flush the pills out of his home.

"I didn't even know you had them," she said.

"I know. I don't have any more. Well, the hospital is full of them, but…that was my safety net."

"Why did you decide to get rid of them?"

"Because I could."

He waited while she processed, and there were a few moments where she considered everything that she had learned. She didn't seem to know what to say to him, but the acceptance on her face was all the response that he wanted, and they both seemed to know that nothing else needed to be said.

"While we're here, do you want to get a few things to bring over?" she offered, giving a response that was a symbol of the acceptance that was offered implicitly within an ordinary invitation.

Relief coursed through his veins when he realized that he had given her another peek into him, but he still hadn't lost what he wanted to keep. He answered as casually as he could given the way that he felt, "Yea, I'll grab some stuff. But we have an hour before we have to go back to work. Besides picking out an appropriately offensive tee shirt to wear to your mother's, can you think of anything you'd like to do while we have an hour all to ourselves, alone in my apartment?"


	5. Making Time

_A/N-I'm so sorry for the lateness. I'll be traveling for work for the next two or three weeks, but I'll do my best to keep updating on Fridays._

_Thank you to all of you who are still hanging on for this story, and for the last chapter's commenters: IHeartHouseCuddy, OldSFfan, linda12344, BabalooBlue, freeasabird14, JM, JLCH, housebound, jaybe61, lenasti16, MissBates, ikissedtheLaurie, CacauHousemaniaca, Suzieqlondon, Little Greg, Abby, CaptainK8, HuddyGirl, Alex, HuddyAleja, Jane Q. Doe, KiwiClare, vicpei1, grouchysnarky, dmarchl, THE Nick' Amaral, and the Guest reviewers._

* * *

**-Making Time-**

Wilson walked into House's office and found his friend asleep on the lounge chair. "I heard you met Cuddy's mother," Wilson said, kicking the edge of the chair.

"Yea. Another successful personal interaction," House said wryly.

"What happened?"

"She kept _accidentally _calling me Lucas. Then she decided that she didn't know me well enough to let me leave with Rachel. But really, since Rachel seems to have developed quite a fondness for yours truly, I think granny was upset that the kid likes me better. So she made Cuddy come to formally introduce us."

"Oh, that sounds like fun."

"It took Cuddy almost two hours to finish her meeting and get there."

"You stayed?"

"It became a challenge, I didn't want her to win."

"Did she win?"

"I'm still not sure yet. Cuddy was angrier with her mother than me, I guess that's something."

"Actually, that's really good. I can't believe you made it that long without getting in trouble."

"I didn't say I didn't get in trouble. I said Arlene was in _more_ trouble than I was. I was fine for the first hour, and then she asked what I was 'doing with her daughter' and my answer was not quite what she was looking for-"

"Oh god," Wilson interrupted.

"Yea. So now I have a feeling that Cuddy's going to make us see each other again."

"That means Cuddy wants your relationship to work. She's trying to integrate you into her life."

"It means I have to spend more time with Arlene Cuddy without my Cuddy deciding I'm undateable."

"You'll get through. This is good. Trust me. Besides, you get to go home to Cuddy. And speaking of home…where have you been?"

"I've been spending a lot of time at Cuddy's. But officially, I'm moving back into my apartment."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"I was only staying with you so you wouldn't be lonely. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you. For what?"

"Your engagement."

Wilson hesitated for the tiniest fraction of time, but House saw it and his suspicions were raised. "You didn't _know_ you were engaged?"

"Of course I knew," Wilson answered defensively. "It's just more informal."

"Informal or nonexistent?"

"Where did you hear this?"

"Sam seems to think you are getting married."

"Yea," Wilson nodded, confused.

"Well I'm very happy for you. Or maybe I should just pretend to be happy…since it's a pretend engagement."

* * *

Rachel caught the stomach bug that Cuddy was hoping to avoid. House knew that kids got sick, but he had no idea what that involved as a parent. The first two nights of the illness, Cuddy didn't even come to bed, she slept somewhere on a rocker or on Rachel's floor, trying to keep the child comfortable enough to sleep. On the third night, because Cuddy seemed to be losing her mind from lack of sleep, House stayed up with the little girl. By then, she was no longer vomiting, so she slept well all night, curled up on House's chest while he watched television.

The next morning, House was staring at a patient through the glass windows from the waiting area outside of the room. Wilson came up, "Cuddy looks refreshed."

"Good."

"Huge points, my friend. Huge points."

"What do you mean?" House asked, looking over at Wilson grumpily.

"She said you stayed up with Rachel last night so she could sleep."

"The kid slept all night, didn't even wake up. It wasn't a big deal."

"But to Cuddy…it is. I don't think I've ever earned that many points with any of my wives or girlfriends. She is going to make it up to you. Big time."

"I'd settle for ten minutes alone in her office."

"In any relationship, but especially since she has a child, I'm sure there will be dry spells. How long has it been? Three days? A week?"

"Yesterday morning."

Wilson stared, "What in the hell are you complaining about?"

"We're…affectionate."

"Or horny."

"That too."

"I'm surprised she can keep up with you."

"She likes nights, I like mornings…it's called compromise. Maybe that's why all of your marriages ended in divorce," House replied observantly.

"Because we didn't rely almost solely on physical expressions of our emotions, or because we didn't have sex twice a day?"

"Well, it's not always twice a day. Some days we hit up lunch."

"You're an asshole."

"Well right now, I'm a neglected asshole…that didn't come out quite right."

"My heart is breaking for you. Really."

"She has a meeting with a lawyer this evening that she's making me attend, so I guess tonight's out. She's always busy."

"While the lawyer is here, maybe you could talk to him about suing Cuddy for neglect? I'm sure the courts would feel for you when they hear it's been just over _twenty-four hours_ since you last had sex." Wilson joked before he walked away.

* * *

While Cuddy had her eleven-thirty meeting, her assistant came in and whispered to her that a policeman was there to see her. Cuddy wrapped up her meeting as politely as possible, but when the young man came in, she nodded with slow understanding, assuming it was a prank until the policeman gave her his badge. When she looked at it, she realized it was authentic.

She offered him a seat that he politely declined, and then he told her, "I've been asked to bring you to county to ID a body."

"Excuse me?"

"A former patient, ma'am."

"I don't usually see patients."

"You'll remember this one. I believe he has a lawsuit pending and they suspect foul play."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Please come with me. This will only take an hour."

"Should I call our lawyer?" she asked while she gathered her purse.

"You feel you need a lawyer for this ma'am? Is there something you have to tell me?"

His look was so suspicious while he grabbed a small writing tablet and pen that she started to panic. "Of course not. I'm just not sure who this is, or what the circumstances are."

"I'm going to have to ask you to cooperate with this investigation, ma'am."

Cuddy walked out to the car, her heart stopping when she saw the detective in the front seat. Tritter got out, opening the door to the back so Cuddy could enter. When she saw him, she took out her cell phone, but Tritter pulled it from her hand. "Let's not make a scene, Dr. Cuddy. Get in the fucking car."

She got in nervously, demanding that Tritter tell her what was going on. "Am I under arrest?" she asked.

Tritter looked around, but didn't answer.

"I get a phone call," she insisted.

"You get a phone call when I say you get a phone call."

"So I _am_ under arrest? This is ridiculous, you didn't read me my rights. You can't just pick up people and drag them in."

"You got in the car willingly. Look, if I read you your rights and give you a phone call, then you really _are _under arrest. Is that what you want? Just calm down and with any luck this will all be cleared up."

Her mind went in a thousand directions, from her child to the hospital to House. She wondered what, if anything, House had to do with any of it. They pulled in near the police station, but not at it. Cuddy bounced her leg nervously until Tritter got her out and directed her toward the cheap motel nearby. "What is going on?" she asked.

Tritter leaned close and said, "We already have your boyfriend. This is informal…for now. Please cooperate."

She was completely stunned, wondering how her life had suddenly become a very weird movie where everything was falling apart. She gripped her purse close, wrapping her fingers around a can of pepper spray that she was fully prepared to use if Tritter had gone completely insane. The younger cop, seeing her worry, leaned over and said, "Ma'am, trust me, everything is fine."

She already told herself that absolutely nothing was fine while she walked to room three, holding her purse against her abdomen. The door opened and House was sitting on a chair inside the motel room, but he certainly didn't look upset. "Thanks," House said contentedly.

"Sure," Tritter answered, offering a near smile and giving House Cuddy's cell phone. "Now you promised I could ask her."

"Go ahead," House replied calmly.

"Dr. Cuddy, were you and House having an affair during the course of my investigation a few years back?"

"No, absolutely not," she answered, her finger still on the release for the pepper spray.

"Really?" Tritter appeared to be dumbfounded.

"Really. Why?"

"My instincts told me there had to be something going on. I hate when they're wrong."

Tritter turned and walked out the door, closing it behind him. House leaned back in his chair and gestured for Cuddy to come to him while he turned off her cell phone.

"What in the hell is going on here? I was told I had to ID a body."

"You do. Mine. I wasn't sure if you knew what it looked like anymore."

"You think this is a joke?"

"More of a ruse than a joke, if you think about it. But a ruse with a very pleasant purpose."

"Tritter helped you pull this off? You guys are suddenly buddies now?"

"We discussed Tritter during one of my sessions, Nolan felt I should make amends."

"And you did?" she asked with nearly horrified disbelief.

"Well, I was more interested in a sort of 'I told you so' scenario. I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong about me. We ate undercooked red meat and discussed things. Turns out he had some medical issues and for some reason tended to avoid doctors after meeting me. I, being the true humanitarian that I am, hooked him up with some Viagra…wait, now that I'm a law abiding citizen, largely, I should obey privacy laws, so let me rephrase. I found him a little pick-me-up…if you know what I mean," House winked obnoxiously.

"So you gave him Viagra and all was forgiven?"

"He liked the steak too. He was also very excited that I didn't stick anything up his ass."

"I can't believe he talked to you…or you to him."

"He was surprised that I was clean. Nolan was happy, and I no longer have the world's most tenacious local detective waiting for me to screw up. Also, he brought you here so I can have sex with you, so I think we're all happy with how things turned out."

"Oh, there is no way. You scared me half to death. Now you want sex?"

"Fear and sex work well together. You've been ignoring me."

"I've been busy, Rachel's been sick…"

"And I went to these lengths to have some uninterrupted time with you."

"Should I be pissed or flattered?"

"Turned on, mostly. That's what I'm going for. Your life is busy. I get that. But I count too. If you forget, I'll make you remember."

"This is how you get alone time with me?"

"By any means necessary," he said, and then he added more quietly, "I missed our time together."

She put her purse down and replied, "I have pepper spray on my fingers. I thought Tritter had lost it. I'm not sure if that would hurt certain sensitive areas of your anatomy."

He looked on worriedly, "I don't want to find out. I'm thinking yes."

She chuckled, walking past him with the sexy strut she used when she wanted his attention. She was in the bathroom, washing her hands. When she finished, he was standing behind her and put his hands on her hips. They were watching each other in the mirror. His fingers went to the bottom of her sweater and he began to take it off, "Hands up," he said.

She smirked, lifting them. While her hands were over her head, the sweater over her face, House quickly encircled one wrist with a handcuff and then the other. She heard it, but with her hands over her head, which was stuck in the sweater, there was little she could do quickly enough to get away. He lifted the sweater high enough so she could see, and she looked back to see that her hands were both trapped and the handcuffs were looped through a towel rack next to the sink. "Let me go," she ordered.

"Relax," he said, his voice perfectly tempting while he lifted her onto the sink counter, "you can trust me."

Her eyes were nervous, more than he thought they'd be, but there was a hot flare of attraction behind them that intensified when he lifted her skirt to her hips and saw the garters she had worn.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The meeting with a lawyer was a lie. I was going to have sex with you in my office. Then you pulled this stunt, so I guess I can cancel that."

"Really?"

"Yea. Really," she said, leaning forward and grazing his chin with her teeth.

"We can do that too."

"No, it's too late. You know about it."

"OK," he answered while he lowered his face to her breast. He couldn't take her bra off because of the way her arms were confined, so it remained on her, pushed to the side. He took a nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and smoothing over it with his tongue, just roughly enough to make her gasp.

He realized at one point that she was watching him in the mirror. Occasionally she'd get lost and try to move her hands to touch him once his face was buried between her thighs. The inability to move seemed to frustrate her, but not enough to stop him. Right after she came, he stood up, kissing back up her body slowly until he reached her ear, "Please can we keep our meeting tonight? I've been neglected too long."

She lazily agreed, nodding her head while she enjoyed the weight of him against the front of her body. "Can I handcuff you for the meeting?" she asked.

"God, yes," he nodded as he unzipped his jeans and shoved his clothes out of the way.

He touched her legs from her thighs to her ankles, bringing them around his body while he stood, encircled by her. He pushed into her with a patience demanded by his own anticipation. She was watching his face in the mirror again, and seeing the look of need and satisfaction all at once. His attempts at patience were admirable, the feeling of her body too good to let go quickly without savoring every second. She exercised control in her own way, tightening her legs around him and using her heels to push him into her at a quicker pace. She used the way her arms were tied, pulling down on the handcuffs to lift her upper body.

When she started come, she pulled down roughly on the handcuffs and yanked the towel rack from the wall. House would have burst out laughing if he wasn't already under the control of a powerful orgasm that suspended any hope of coherent thought. He leaned against her, wrapping one arm around her waist while the other caressed her thigh. When he realized how much range of motion she had, he knew that she had somehow freed herself.

"Oh my god," he shouted, "I'm dating some sort of super hero. Did you turn green and I just didn't notice?"

"You didn't hear me pull these from the wall?"

"I was busy."

"The lengths you will go to for sex. You're raising my expectations for dates. I can't imagine what you'll have to come up with after ten years to keep things fresh."

He lifted up, kissed her quickly and started to pull his clothes back together. He got the key and took off her handcuffs, rubbing the red lines around her wrists, but he seemed to be thinking. "I'll keep coming up with stuff for as long as you keep me around."

She watched him, feeling a little hurt by the melancholy that settled in compared to the mood only minutes earlier. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You're going to have to come up with tons and tons of things," she said, guessing at the reason for the more serious shift.

He nodded and started to walk away until she grabbed his arm and brought him back, saying to him, "I love you. You know that, right?"

Stepping against her and weaving his arms around her body he said, "That may be, but the money to fix the towel rack is coming out of your account. You're a wild woman."

She laughed, trying to cover the disappointment that she had when he didn't return the sentiment. He watched while she put herself back together, fixed her makeup and got ready to go. He picked up her cell phone to return it to her and held it back before she could grab it, and said with weighty solemnity, "I love you."

Smiling, she kissed him, indulging in a few more seconds of aloneness before they had to go back to work.

While they walked out of the room, House commented, "You realize that your arrest record is going to be staggering?"


	6. Ending Homelessness

_A/N-Hey all. I'm in the middle of my work travel, so here's an update, but it's not a very long one. Thanks, as always, to all of you who encourage me to keep going, your words are thoroughly appreciated. Thanks to all of the reviewers of the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, BabalooBlue, jkarr, JLCH, jaybe61, JM, Guest, CacauHousemaniaca, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, ikissedtheLaurie, Huddylovelover, lenasti16, freeasabird14, KiwiClare, HuddyAleja, Little Greg, bladesmum, Ann, oc7ober and Tami._

* * *

**-Ending Homelessness-**

Cuddy had never harbored secret hopes of a friendship with Sam, but her lack of interest in Wilson's girlfriend was quickly becoming complete and total dislike. Wilson was leasing out the loft that he had purchased from under Cuddy. She wasn't terribly upset to see the loft go because, in all honesty, it was a reminder of her relationship with Lucas and the complicated mess that her life had almost become. But she _was_ angry about the reason why.

Sam considered the loft a bachelor pad, and she wanted Wilson to sell it so the two of them could move into her home. Cuddy quietly listened while House told her he was worried about his friend and what was going to happen, but she tried to put House's fears at ease while inside she was harboring her own anger. Sam seemed to be manipulating Wilson into doing whatever she wanted, and House was paying the price. He made jokes about being dumped by his best friend, and tried to act like none of it bothered him, but it was painfully clear to Cuddy how hurt he was. At the same time, she saw Wilson and wondered if House's assessment was correct, and Wilson would end up hurt too much by this relationship to ever recover.

Sam and Wilson stopped in Cuddy's office unexpectedly one Thursday afternoon and informed her that the loft would have to be emptied by Saturday because the tenants were taking possession on Sunday. They had informed House of the deadline, but Sam wanted Cuddy to be sure House followed through. At that point, Cuddy was furious that Sam had put her in that position. Cuddy was protective of her hospital, of her daughter and certainly of House, particularly since they had started dating a few months earlier. He seemed more vulnerable since he got clean.

House showed up at Cuddy's that night, tired and achy. He sat on the sofa next to her, leaning his head against her shoulder, "Why don't you greet me at the door, naked and horny, with a home cooked meal ready for me anymore? Is the magic gone so soon?"

"I have never done that."

"Why not?"

House looked down when he felt Rachel pulling up on the sofa. Cuddy pointed at the girl, "My daughter may factor into that since she's often here at dinner time. Also my self-respect."

"This isn't a sexist request. I would cook and serve you dinner naked."

Cuddy wrinkled her nose, "My advice? Wear an apron. Don't burn anything I might need."

"You worry too much," House said, lightly pushing Rachel back each time she tried to move closer. Rachel would always giggle at this game until she realized she wasn't really getting what she want and then she'd become angry.

"Move in with me. You have some stuff here already, you're over almost every night. We should make it official," Cuddy floated the idea.

House shook his head, "Where did that come from?"

"I dunno. Move in with me."

Looking at Rachel, he told her, "So I pick on you and your mom tries to convince me to be here more often. You should probably be insulted."

Cuddy sighed, "You're always here anyway. It's largely a formality."

"Wilson or Sam?"

"Hunh?"

"Who talked to you? Wilson or Sam?"

"I saw Wilson at the departmental meeting you were supposed to be at, why?"

"Which one of them asked you to make sure I got my crap out of the loft without going off the deep end?"

"That's not why I'm asking."

"Wilson or Sam?"

"Both. I think they just wanted me to help you."

"They wanted you to babysit me."

"I can't stand her either," Cuddy admitted, "but I don't know what to do. This isn't my choice, this is Wilson's choice. So all I can do here is make sure you're alright."

"I'm not helpless," he spat back, "I don't need any of you watching out for me or making sure I do what I'm told. Tonight…tonight is exactly why I have my own apartment. I'll be at work tomorrow, I'll see you there."

Within two minutes, House was out the door, leaving behind a confused toddler and a very concerned Cuddy. At first, her irritation was focused on Sam, but as the night wore on, she became more frustrated with House. By the time Rachel was in bed, Cuddy knew there was little chance she'd get any sleep. She meditated, answered emails and scrubbed her tub, but still felt irritated, so she took a bath.

It was after midnight when she began to soak. She brought in two candles and poured a glass of wine, determined to treat herself to something soothing. She was in the water, just beginning to feel the heat of the bath permeating her tense muscles, and she heard noise outside of the bathroom door. He opened it without knocking and she whisper-yelled, "I can't have any privacy in my own bathroom?"

"Well, clearly you're happy I don't live here too," he drunkenly answered.

She sunk down into the tub, closing her eyes and trying to ignore him, "You can sleep in the guest room. I hope you didn't drive here like that."

"Taxi," he answered, "but at least this time when I came back, you were naked."

"If I would have known you were coming back, I would have locked the door."

House lowered himself to the floor next to the tub, groaning from the pressure on his leg.

"Go away," she ordered, "I want to finish my bath in peace."

"One minute you want me to live with you and the next you want me to go away? You're sending mixed signals. Or proving to me that you only asked me to move in because you felt guilty that I have to leave Wilson's."

"Well, you chased me like you couldn't survive without me, but the second I mention a more formal commitment, you run away. You were fine with practically living here, but actually living here is horrible. Talk about mixed signals." She sat up in the tub and added, "What happened to the guy who told me that I should date him for a few months and then ask him to marry me?"

"Your breasts look amazing by candlelight. I'll add that to the list of other lights your breasts look amazing in…incandescent lights, fluorescent lights, flashlights, no lights, spot lights…"

"And now we're going to talk about my breasts," she huffed, sliding back down into the bubbles, "this is a mature way to handle this discussion, thank you for taking it so seriously."

"Harder to see that way," he replied using the tips of his fingers to try to create a space in the bubbles that he could look through.

"You aren't helping anything. You're just making me angrier by replacing an argument about something that could have been an important moment in our lives with rude sexual comments."

"My mind is naturally drawn to rude sexual comments when you're naked in the same room. Or naked in a different room. Or in the same room but not naked. Sometimes you aren't in the room _or _naked."

She splashed water on her face, "Let me make this clear, there is no way I am having sex with you tonight. Does that help clear your mind at all?"

"So you're going to punish me by withholding sex?"

"No. I'm not going to have sex with you because you're drunk, and I'm definitely not feeling amorous."

He put his chin on the edge of the tub, "Why'd you do that? Why did you buy into the belief that I couldn't handle this?"

Her head rested against the back of the tub, but she turned to face him, "I could have accepted 'no' or even 'let's wait a few months,' but I deserved an answer. You handled it by getting drunk. Hardly a fantastic coping mechanism."

"Not my best response. Not the worst either."

"Would it be so bad if, on top of wanting to live with you, some part of me didn't want you to feel hurt? You didn't even bother thinking of that."

"I'm not that fragile."

"No one said you were. I'm hurt, does that make me fragile?"

"You're upset about Wilson?"

"No. You hurt me," she said, shaking her head and looking away.

"Because I needed a night to myself?"

"Not that. Because you were so upset about the thought of living with me that you left to go drown your sorrows. Then you come back here and think you can compliment my body and I'll fall into your arms?"

"If it would have been a real offer, it would have been different. I don't need you to protect my feelings."

"It _was_ a real offer. The circumstance was a convenient excuse for me to bring it up. And we could have had that discussion, put Rachel to bed and spent hours together, exploring those sexual thoughts that fill your mind. Then we could have talked about where to put your piano. That's how I was hoping that would all turn out."

His head stayed on the edge of the tub, his eyes remaining on her, but his expression was heavy with sadness. Cuddy soaked in the tub, running more hot water from the tap to heat the bath again. Ignoring House had always been a difficult thing to do. When she looked at him again she said, "You don't want me to care about your feelings? Stop looking at me like that."

"I don't want my girlfriend to feel sorry for me and take me in. I don't want your pity."

"See it how you want."

He sat back, "You seriously wanted me to move in?"

"I wanted us to talk about it, consider it. Instead you decided to take offense to it and leave."

"I wasn't offended. I just didn't think it was a genuine offer."

She sat up, grabbing his chin with her soaking wet hand, "Part of me didn't want you to get hurt, but living together is something I've been thinking about a lot since we practically do it anyway. Sam and Wilson moving in together was a good time to bring it up. I don't feel like talking about it anymore tonight. Sleep here, go get some rest."

"In the guest room?"

"In my bed. To _sleep._ I'm hurt, and I need some time, but it doesn't change how I feel about you."

* * *

House was hungover in the morning, and they were meeting at the loft to pack his belongings that night. He and Cuddy rode over together after work. She wasn't necessary cold, but he could feel the protective distance that she put between them. He packed his room quickly because he didn't really have that much there. Cuddy was carrying the small boxes out to the island in the kitchen.

"What are you doing with this?" Sam questioned, poking the organ with the tip of her shoe.

"Do you have room for it?" Wilson asked House. "You could put it at Cuddy's so you have something to play there."

House looked at the instrument, and Cuddy came up to him when he didn't answer. "You could leave it at my place for now. As long as you know that Rachel will probably want to play with it."

"Your place?" House responded. She closed her eyes slowly, hoping that they weren't going to repeat an argument like the one they'd had the night before. House nodded subtly but with certainty, "She can use it."

"You want that monstrosity at your place?" Sam asked with a pretentious tone.

"Are you talking about me or the organ?" House asked.

Sam tittered artificially.

"So when's the big day?" Cuddy asked, intentionally transferring the focus of the conversation. "I guess I should congratulate you. You aren't going to announce the good news?"

"Honey," Wilson approached Sam, "House was under the impression that we were…getting remarried."

Sam awkwardly shook her head, "We've…talked about it. That _is _our direction. Isn't it?"

"Sure."

House and Cuddy watched the uncomfortable looks between Wilson and Sam. Sam's arms were crossed and her body language was stiff before she huffed, "Time to say goodbye to the frat house."

"Where did you go to school?" Cuddy asked. "I remember frat houses, and they weren't anything like this."

There was a loud knock at the door when the movers arrived, interrupting the tension-filled room. The movers took the organ to Cuddy's and even dropped off House's boxes at his apartment. After Wilson and Sam continued on with the moving van, House and Cuddy stood in his apartment in silence.

"I'm officially on my own again," House commented into the air.

"Congratulations," Cuddy answered. "I know a lot has happened since Mayfield. I think you're doing really well."

She was fidgeting with items on the shelves in his living room when he stood next to her, similarly examining his belongings.

"Now that I'm officially not homeless I think you should move in with me," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure."

"I'm serious."

Cuddy looked around, "I don't think this is big enough."

"I want you to move in with me at your place."

"Don't worry about last night," she started, "I'm alright."

"This is not about last night. Last night, you were offering to let a guy who was homeless move in with you. Now I have a home again, but I've decided the home I actually want to live in is with you. And what's her name. That kid who keeps waking me up at unnatural hours."

"Don't feel pressured into this. Take some time to think about it."

"I didn't want you to come rescue me. Now I don't need you to because I have my own place I can live in. But what I _want _is to live with you. So I'm done thinking about it. It's your turn to think about it, and you can let me know."

House opened one of the boxes that they had just brought back from Wilson's and put a book on the shelf near Cuddy. She picked it up, put it back in the box, and put the box under her arm, "I'm done thinking too. Let's go home."


	7. Playable Hands

_A/N-I'm finally back. Sorry my work kept me a bit busier than I'd expected and then there were some technical issues. Thank you all for your patience. Things should calm down in my real life for a bit (I hope)._

_Thanks so much to this chapter's reviewers: ikissedtheLaurie, JM, JLCH, freeasabird14, IHeartHouseCuddy, LapizSilkwood, jaybe61, OldSFfan, lenasti16, Anonymoose, Suzieqlondon, KiwiClare, LittleGreg, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, linda12344, HuddyAleja, iridescentZEN, Boo's House, Mon Fogel, oc7ober, grouchysnarky, the Guest reviewers, BabalooBlue, dmarchl21, Tori, Ann and Dfc._

* * *

**-Playable Hands-_  
_**

"I know this has something to do with you," Wilson said while he walked into House's office.

House's fellows turned to look at Wilson, who was obviously seething. The fellows dispersed and House answered, "It's very possible. Which thing are you referring to?"

"You want Sam and me to break up, don't you? Don't deny it."

"Have I ever really tried to deny it?"

"So you did this?"

"How about this," House said while he thought, "you tell me the best way to break you and Sam up. I'll do that very thing, and when it works, you can come back and thank me."

"This isn't a joke and it won't work."

House shook his head, "If I could come up with a way, I would. That woman is not who you want to waste the next few years on. She's slowly bleeding you dry."

"This is my relationship and my decision."

"Agreed," House answered, "but I didn't do anything, mostly because I couldn't come up with something that will work…yet."

"Did you buy the place on Euclid?"

"What as a…gift?"

"Someone took a play right out of my playbook and bought the place before we could."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Diabolical. How exactly is that the key to destroying your pseudo-unconfirmed-pretend-engagement?"

"Do you know how hard it was to find a place we could agree on?"

"You didn't mention there was trouble in Succubusland."

"Because you bask in every problem we have. I can't tell you stuff anymore, I had to start talking to someone else about my relationship."

House cocked his head, "Who are you talking to?"

Wilson looked away, "It doesn't matter. I'm happy that you found someone, why can't you be happy for me?"

"Because you should have someone whose ultimate goal isn't sucking all of the fun from your existence. I'm not going to pretend I'm excited that you're signing up for destruction. That's like me choosing an infarction for my other leg because it was so fun the first time it happened."

Wilson shook his head, "This won't ruin us, you'll see."

"I didn't do it."

* * *

Cuddy was looking for files in her assistant's area. "Are you sneaking around with my best friend?" House asked while he approached.

"Wilson?" she asked as she shook her head, "When exactly do I have time to sleep with Wilson?"

"Not for sex. You're sneaking around like _girlfriends_."

"Oh," she answered, still trying to find something in the files.

"Why are you being your own assistant?"

"It's a long story."

"Did he quit? Already?"

"She. Yes, she did."

"She? I thought it was that skinny guy with the eye thing."

"He left last week," she explained, frantically continuing her search.

House stood next to where she was working, "Do you keep spare assistants in your filing cabinet?"

"No. I'm looking for an incident report that was filed last year about the-"

"Would it be here…with incident reports?" he opened the drawer and her eyes lit up. "Don't even ask me," he added, "assisting you is a kiss of death."

"If you could just help me for a few minutes with-"

"No," he interrupted immediately, "especially since I found out that you are trying to steal Wilson."

"Wilson and I have been friends for a long time. The stuff he talks about with me isn't the stuff he talks about with you. We had lunch a few times when you were busy. Are we supposed to skip lunch if you're unavailable."

"You can eat."

"Wow, that's so open-minded of you."

"Just not together."

She turned to see a smirk on his face before she pulled out two folders that she needed, "Thanks for finding this. I'm so overwhelmed I can't even see straight."

"What is he talking to you about?"

"Relationship stuff. Stuff you don't want to talk about. So why shouldn't he talk to me about it?"

House sat back, watching her ass while she filed. When she turned around, she raised her eyebrow, "Seriously? You don't see me enough?"

"You want me to go look at someone else's ass?"

"Not really."

"Then why complain? If you're tense, I could help you relieve some stress."

"Because the answer to not having enough time to do my work is to postpone working so we can have sex?"

"Makes sense to me."

"Not today, House."

"Well, I'm mad at _you_, don't turn it around and pretend like you should be mad at me."

"Next time, I'll tell Wilson that you want to listen to the problems in his love life and constructively help him with his relationship."

"OK."

"Fine."

"Do you think, in the context of our relationship at this time, we should talk about major purchases before making them? For example, if I wanted a new bike."

"It's your money," she answered, while she looked through the paperwork, "but I'd say we're at the point where stuff like that would at least come up."

"Exactly. But you bought two houses without mentioning that to me."

Her eyes widened, but she still didn't look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you buying the places that Wilson and Sam like?"

"Wouldn't I tell you if I was buying a house? That's not something that's easy to hide."

"Maybe you aren't buying. Flipping? Investing in? What phrase do I have to say to get you to admit it?"

"I didn't buy or invest or flip anything."

"So you weren't trying to beat up the bully that was mean to me at recess?"

"You think Doug Miller is on my secret payroll?"

"You know who bought it? Even Wilson didn't know that."

She tightened her lips, "What could I possibly gain by doing that?"

"Revenge on Wilson for doing it to you. Or, you're trying to break them up. Like I said, beating up the bully who picked on me."

"If anything, she should be mad at _Doug_."

"I'm keeping track of the amount of lying and-or misdirecting that you're doing, and I'll consider that your way of setting acceptable standards of deception. Because no matter what your intentions, you're lying."

She closed the filing cabinet door with her hip and nodded, "You're right. I may have mentioned to Doug and one of our insurance reps…and a friend of mine…that a few properties had come up. But only because I knew they were looking."

"And then you directed them to the places that Sam liked?"

Cuddy bit her lip and looked away, slowly turning back, and defending, "She's terrible for Wilson. She lied to you about the engagement to push you out of Wilson's life. And did I mention that she's _terrible _for Wilson? It didn't seem too out of line since he did it to me."

"I don't think it'll work. But it's a nice try."

"Are you kidding me?" she said with a look of strategic brilliance, "buying a house and moving are incredibly stressful. It is going to bring out the very worst in her, and Wilson is going to see that. This is going to work."

House looked at her face and the determination on it and said, "Maybe I should have been more cautious about pissing you off over the years."

She tucked the folders under her arm and nodded, "Damn right."

* * *

Cuddy was right about Sam, and the relationship with Wilson blew up. Cuddy was excited about her victory until Wilson showed up that night. The man was devastated. They told him he could move into the guest room since his loft was rented out for the next few months.

Wilson and House were sitting in the living room, playing a video game while Rachel teetered around next to House or occasionally sat on his lap and pretended to play along with the game. They were limited to certain games because a child was in the room. Cuddy was in the kitchen, looking through her email address book in search of someone who she thought Wilson might be interested in dating. She would have definitely denied it if Wilson caught her. She certainly wouldn't set them up on a blind date, but she didn't see any harm in having a friend over while Wilson happened to be there. Although her plan to end Sam and Wilson's relationship was successful, the guilt that resulted was difficult for Cuddy to handle, and she felt a compelling need to make it up to Wilson.

Cuddy heard House pause his game, coming out the kitchen to grab a snack and refill Rachel's cup. "You need me to get that?" Cuddy asked.

"Nope. You almost done working?" he questioned, irritated that her work had come home.

"Soon," she answered. When he went back into the living room, Cuddy closed her computer and listened to the conversation. House seemed quite at ease with the little girl, unless Rachel was sick or really fussy, and at times like those, she was usually only interested in her mother.

"Maybe I should have a baby," Wilson suggested.

"Do they make maternity ties?"

"You know what I mean. I could adopt. Or look for a woman who is interested in those sorts of things. Maybe I'm looking for the wrong things."

"If Sam was your choice, you're definitely looking for the wrong things."

"I don't even know what I want anymore."

"You never seemed too eager to have kids before."

"No. But neither were you. When I was younger, I figured I'd get married and have a kid or two of my own. Then it just never seemed the right time and I figured maybe I didn't want that in my life. Now I see you and Cuddy and Rachel, and I don't know. Maybe I want a baby."

House held out Rachel out in front of him and said, "Have this one. Give her a few of those yogurt snack puff things and she'll follow you anywhere."

"I don't think Cuddy's ready to give that one up."

"How committed are you to remaining with your current household?" House very seriously asked the child.

Rachel smiled and said, "Hi."

"Hi," House responded and told Wilson with an official tone, "she seems pretty committed to staying here with Cuddy."

"You like her, don't you?"

"Have you seen Cuddy? What's not to like?"

"I meant Rachel. I meant you seem to like being around her. You like being the man in her life."

"I'm someone to play with who gives her snacks and keeps her mother happy."

Rachel leaned her head against House's shoulder sleepily and looked up, "Hi."

Wilson shook his head, "You've bonded."

"She's not boring," House answered, "so my friendship with her is not that different from my friendship with you."

"You bailed her out of jail?"

"They caught her joy riding…dime bag in the back pocket of her diaper."

House was amused by the image in his head until Wilson said, "But here you are, sitting at home on a Friday night with a little kid climbing over you."

"I sat at home on plenty of Friday nights."

"Is virtual fatherhood what you would have chosen if I would have asked you two years ago?"

"No," House answered, sharply.

Cuddy's heart dropped when she heard House's reply. It stung as fully as if he'd told her that he'd never loved her.

"You do realize that, if you decide to stay with Cuddy, you will be the only man Rachel will ever remember raising her?" Wilson asked.

House thought for a minute and said, "I'm good here."

"But it isn't what you would have chosen for your life."

They stopped talking, going back to their game. Rachel climbed on House's lap because she was getting tired. Cuddy stood in the doorway, coming in to take the girl up to bed and House, without seeing Cuddy, said to Wilson, "Two years ago, I didn't know I wanted this, but sometimes the hand you're dealt is more playable than the one you were hoping for."

Cuddy blinked slowly while she felt the wash of relief from House's clarification. As she approached, she saw that Rachel had already fallen asleep.

* * *

When they were getting ready for bed a few nights later, House said, "This place sucks."

"Thanks," Cuddy answered dryly.

"Did you see this?" House tilted his laptop toward her and she looked at the real estate page.

"You're mad about the Wilson thing," she sat down on the edge of the bed, "just get to it."

"I'm not mad. It was brilliant."

"He's depressed."

"He's not depressed, he's just…in transition. He'll be fine. Better now than later. This is not something you should feel guilty about."

"And yet…I do."

"The only thing you should feel guilty about is not helping me kick her to the curb back when I originally asked you to."

"Then what's the real estate thing about?"

"Like I said, this place sucks."

"You're testing us?"

"No."

"You are. You just watched Wilson and Sam blow up, so you're running a test to see if we can survive a similar situation."

House looked at the property on his screen and said, "We've always fought. We've said horrible things, done mean things and screamed at each other. We don't need to move in order to fight. You think that an argument over whether or not there are separate sinks in the bathroom is going to be what finally breaks us?"

"No. _I _don't think that. You're the one who keeps an apartment as a safety net."

"Well you were willing to buy a place with Lucas but not with me. That doesn't make me feel exactly confident here."

"I was going to buy it on my own, in my name, not _with_ him."

"So essentially I'm the same as him. You want your place and some guy to live in it with you."

"No," she argued, "you know that's not true."

"Then what is it? My place is practically empty, I'm completely moved out. You want to keep your safety net while complaining that I'm keeping mine?"

"No. I didn't know that you wanted to buy some place new."

"This is your place and I'm here, at _your _place. As long as you have your place, I'm going to want to keep my place."

"Because you think I'm just going to kick you out?"

He became silent, paging through homes on the computer.

"I'm in love with you. I've told you that so many times and in so many ways," she explained.

"It _was_ good that Wilson found out about Sam now. If you have reservations, I want to know. I'd rather get dumped now than later when I've really gotten used to this."

"I'm not dumping you. You could have told me how you felt."

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"We're arguing about it."

"Arguing is telling."

"I still think you're testing us." She sat on the bed and looked over his shoulder. Pointing at a home, she said, "I like that one."

"But this is the best one," he pointed at the screen, "this is all on one floor. There's room for a playroom for Rachel, space for a piano, an office that can be turned into a porn-viewing studio-"

"Or kept as an office for me."

"Boring. Also they have separate in-law quarters. It's close enough to the hospital."

She looked at it, "It is charming."

"That was my biggest concern."

"In-law quarters?" she suddenly looked both touched and worried, "For my mother?"

"Hell no. For Wilson. Just in case there are any future divorces. Or if Rachel decides we're way too embarrassing to live with."

"There are two sinks in the master bathroom," she said excitedly while they looked through the pictures.

"I was joking about arguing about separate sinks. That isn't really important to you, is it?"

"For the chance to not deal with stubble when you choose to tame your face or toothpaste in the sink…yea, it's important to me."

"Part of the joy of being with a real man."

"And I would be able to enjoy the joy of being with a real man even more if some of his manliness was contained in his own sink. And by now I'm sure you've noticed that when I'm less stressed…I tend to be more adventurous and enthusiastic in bed because I'm not distracted by whatever I'm stressed about."

He looked over the computer, staring at the empty space in the middle of the bedroom, "In that case, I'll look for a place with my own bathroom."


	8. Last Minute

_A/N-Hey everyone! I hope this works, I tried to post yesterday, but there have been some issues with the servers here. Thanks to all of you who have followed and favorited this ball of super-fluff. __ Thanks also to those who left a comment on this chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, BabalooBlue, OldSFfan, linda12344, ikissedtheLaurie, the Guest reviewers, Little Greg, CaptainK8, jaybe61, HuddyAleja, Alex, bere, Abby, JLCH, lenasti16, Abby, HuddyGirl, freeasabird14, Boo's House, Jane Q. Doe, grouchysnarky, Maya, JM and LoveMyHouse._

_I'm not sure if i'll be posting another chapter of this fic next or a one-shot sequel to 'Living Well' that several people requested, but likely it will be whichever one i'm most inspired to finish this week. Thanks!_

* * *

**-Last Minute-**

House and Cuddy had fewer problems buying a home than most people had anticipated. If it was a test of their relationship, they succeeded. There was a single two-day long fight about the dangers of an in-ground pool for families with children and a pretty heated debate over the potential uses of a large rec room in one home, but other than that, most disagreements were short-lived.

Settlement on their new home was early in the day, and then each attended the settlements of their own homes, separately. When Cuddy was done selling her home, she went to their new place, waiting for House to join her and waiting for the movers to arrive. She was scrubbing the kitchen, smiling to herself as she realized the steps that she and House had taken together. Her cell phone rang, so she tossed her cleaning rag in the bucket, dried her hands and answered.

When she answered, the call was from the realtor who had worked on the purchase of their new home and the sale of House's apartment.

"Lisa, I'm still going to have to charge you for my time this morning,"

"I thought everything was based on commission. I didn't realize there were any other fees."

"For your new place, there's obviously no commission, but for the near-sale of Dr. House's property, I'm going to have to charge. I understand that sometimes people change their minds, but I put a lot of time into preparing that sale."

"He…changed his mind?"

"Yes. You haven't spoken to him about it?"

"Why are you calling _me_?"

"I tried to call him. He hasn't answered and I wanted to set up-"

"Look," she interrupted, "I'm not sure what happened, but you'll have to work it out with him directly."

Cuddy hung up after cutting the man short. She couldn't ignore the sense of disappointment. They'd seemed to cross into new territory as they both agreed to give up the safety net of having their own home. It seemed, in some way, to add another level to their commitment, some proof that they were both equally invested and confident that their relationship was lasting.

She knew House was invested in their relationship, but took it as a sign that he still wasn't confident they would last. It was hard to be enthusiastic about their new place with such doubt between them.

A few minutes later, she was scrubbing the floor when he came home. He dropped his helmet on the counter and, staring at her ass, said, "We should fire the cleaning lady and hire you."

She stood, dropped her cleaning supplies and resisted a bit when he pulled her against him. "I'm soaked," she warned.

"Perfect," he said with a wiggle of his brow, "we have a lot of rooms to break in here, so let's get started."

"Your realtor called."

"Oh. Before we ruin what could be a very hot and sweaty moment with you being angry at me, there was a good reason."

"I'm sure you have _a_ reason. I'm also sure that, to you, it's a fantastic one. But these are the kinds of things you talk about with the person you're in a relationship with. The types of things you discuss _before_ you make your final decision. How long were you going to wait to tell me?"

"Today. Probably right after the sex. I wasn't keeping it from you, I was just momentarily distracted."

"You're still expecting something will go wrong, that's what's so frustrating."

"I am. But much less than I used to."

"But you still have that safety net. You'll always have that place to go back to."

"Wilson needed a place. I had a place. It seemed like a good solution."

"Wilson has needed a place for a while, but you decided this morning, minutes before a sale, that you had to give it to him. Sounds more like cold feet than a good solution to a problem."

"I like my place. If I don't have it, at least I know it's in good hands. I can visit it on the weekends and take a hot bath for old times' sake."

"But you aren't selling it to Wilson."

"No. It's an investment. A rental property. All the kids are doing it."

"House," she said, standing right in front of him, "I wish you would have talked to me about this. You could have mentioned something. If you wanted an investment property, you wouldn't have hidden it and done it last minute. Maybe I would have kept mine too. I have one home, and you have two. What makes it worse is, you made that decision on your own."

"You suck at math."

"I'm going to finish the kitchen before the movers get here," she said, turning back to her work before he grabbed her hips and pulled her back to him.

He leaned over her shoulder, "You don't even want to know _why_ you suck at math?"

All efforts were being made by Cuddy to ignore the feeling of his hand low on her abdomen or the sensation of him kissing her neck. "The movers will be here very soon."

"You're pissed over nothing."

"Don't dismiss my feelings," she started angrily.

"I mean I've thought of everything. If I have two places and you have two places, that would balance the scales." He held out papers that had been drawn up preliminarily. "I didn't discuss it with you," he whispered into her ear, "but I have a peace offering. If we both own my apartment, then we're even. Also Wilson will have a place to stay, and I don't have to give it up completely. I've had moments there. I've had you there."

She pulled away, trying to look at the papers he'd provided without the distraction of him tempting her. Waiting while she seemed to put a lot of thought into it, he grew impatient, "Do you have any sort of response?"

The movers showed up and Cuddy transformed into a move-coordinator immediately. He realized that she was wearing one of his sweatshirts, and noted that she'd become so comfortable with him that she'd just take his clothes without saying anything. He liked that change in their relationship, enjoying the fact that she was starting to ignore those little formalities between them. She already looked at home there.

He wasn't exactly sure how much trouble he was in after his decision to keep his apartment. She'd smiled at him a few times while she ran around, but they really didn't speak much. He was decently certain she wasn't kicking him out because he listened while she gave extensive and specific orders to the piano movers. She paused momentarily to ask House, "Is there anything else you want to tell them before they bring it in?"

"I think you covered everything with the thirty minute course on piano moving and follow-up quiz that you gave them."

She shrugged, almost disappointedly, and walked away. He watched while she stood behind the movers, supervising everything they did as they delivered his piano. He also saw a tuner arrive shortly thereafter that she must have scheduled, because he didn't. After the movers were gone, the home was filled with boxes and was strangely silent. Rachel was with Arlene until the morning so they could get some things unpacked.

He was unpacking books and some of his things in the large room they'd set aside just for him. Cuddy had agreed to find a home with a room for him if she could have an office and if he promised to never refer to his room as a "man cave." It was like a miniature version of his apartment, and part of her felt it would give him a place where he could go to get away from her and Rachel and have some solitude. After all, he was used to being alone.

He saw her walk past the room a few times, carrying boxes to different locations. When she walked past for the fourth time, he pulled her into his room. "Welcome to my Den of Testosterone."

"Too much like man cave."

"You didn't say that I couldn't use other words to say the same thing."

She smiled softly, patted his chest and said, "I have a lot to do."

"I have a lot to do too. Where have you been so I can get started?"

There was a mischievous glint in her eye, something he usually loved to see, and she led him to his recliner. Before he sat, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts against his chest and waiting for his hands to journey almost inevitably to her ass. "You're not mad?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she didn't say anything, instead reaching for his jeans and unbuckling and unzipping them while she watched his facial expression. Cuddy knew just how to look at him, and one single look could set his mind racing. She reached into his jeans, finding that he was already beginning to get turned on and shaking her head for a second, "You're so easy."

"I'm not easy, you're just hot. And you have a reputation here."

"We just moved here. I haven't had a chance to establish a reputation."

"By 'here,' I meant 'in my jeans.'" His gaze was softer while he looked her over, "You sure you're not mad?"

"Do you want me to be?"

She put her hand on his shoulder, persuading him to take a seat before she got down on the floor between his legs. Her hands moved up his thighs as she came closer, pulling him free from his boxers while her hand started to stroke him. "Seriously?" he asked, his expression relaxed and a little anticipatory while he seemed to be considering himself a little too lucky.

He patiently let the scene unfold, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning his jaw on his fist. With his other hand, he reached out and stroked the side of her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Those were the little gestures that always gave her pause and made her feel like she wasn't like every other woman to him.

That gesture almost made her rethink what she was about to do. She subtly licked her lips, leaning closer and watching him sink down into the chair with almost complete surrender. His mouth was open a little, his eyebrows looked raised simply because he wasn't scowling, and then she said, "You know what, I was going to, but I changed my mind last minute. Sorry I didn't talk to you about it beforehand so you'd be prepared for the disappointment."

He shook his head, leaning down to pick her up and drag her onto his lap. She was sitting on his good leg, her legs draped over the side of the chair and he said, amusedly, "You're really mean."

"So are you. And you haven't had a shower since yesterday. This place certainly smells like the Den of Testosterone. You really thought I was going to do that right now?"

Her tone was playful, but she had already made her point.

"So you are a little mad," he accused. "I feel the full force of your revenge."

"It wasn't revenge. I was trying to translate my feelings into a context that you could fully appreciate."

"The realtor's coming tomorrow. I called him. Sign the papers. Own it with me."

"OK," she answered calmly, "are you going to change your mind when he gets here."

"No. I don't mind sharing it with you, I just don't want to give it up completely."

"Hopefully your mini-apartment here will keep you from feeling trapped by a family."

"I like her. And I pursued you. I pursued you _after_ you had her. There was full disclosure."

"You're good with her," Cuddy said, her fingers tracing his collarbone. "You treat her so well. I want you to know that I noticed."

"The movers," he said, a bit more loudly. "You took care of my piano. I noticed. And calling in a tuner within hours of settlement may make you the coolest woman in the history of women."

Her look was either affectionate or relieved, probably both, but her hand slid down his abdomen again and into his boxers.

"How many times are you going to play 'fooled you' before you stop messing with me?"

She opened her jeans, scooting them down her hips until she was sitting on his lap in her underwear and his sweatshirt. He went about the extremely enjoyable task of arousing her in return. He kicked up the footrest on the recliner before he unclasped her bra. They didn't even rush toward completing the act too quickly. They enjoyed half-clothed foreplay in the middle of the day in their new home without being rushed by work or family obligations, and then fucked on his recliner when they were too worked up to be content with each other's hands.

* * *

The next morning, Cuddy picked up Rachel. The toddler was able to run now, and she did the second she was inside her new home. House could hear the child running down the halls, her feet thudding as if she weighed four times her actual weight. When she paused, she asked, "Hey, why we here?"

He listened while Cuddy explained, for what seemed like the fiftieth time, that they were moving. She started to show Rachel the new place, and House joined them when they looked into the girl's new room. Her suspicions seemed to disappear when she saw it, obviously thrilled with what she saw.

A little later that morning, Cuddy went looking for Rachel. She knew House had the girl while she called to order lunch, but the two were suspiciously quiet. When they were finally discovered, they were in House's room. The one room in the place that was entirely his own, a place to get away from a little girl who seemed to constantly want his attention, and he chose to take her there. Cuddy stood in the doorway and House told Rachel, "Quick, do it."

House and Rachel started playing 'Happy Birthday.' It was the same song that he and Cuddy had, somewhat jokingly, played together on the organ when he still lived with Wilson. It was also the song that he'd played to get her attention at the conference in DC when he followed her there. She would never hear it again without thinking of him.

Rachel played the first two notes each time, biting her lip while she concentrated on hitting the key hard enough to make a strong sound, and House would finish with the rest of the notes. "Baby, that's amazing," Cuddy said, walking over and picking up her daughter.

The girl turned and smirked at House, like she had played the best and earned the praise of her mother. House scoffed, "But who _taught_ you how to do that?"

Rachel pointed at him and then hid her face against Cuddy's shoulder in a brief flash of shyness as she said, "A-man."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at Rachel's continued use of her own name for House. Not long after Cuddy and House had started dating, Rachel overheard him proclaim, "That's right, because I'm a man," and the little girl seemed to take that as an indication of what he wanted to be called.

The day they moved in to their home together, he watched Rachel hiding her face after their impromptu concert and he said, "Fine, you played the hardest part. Are you happy?"

The girl lifted her face and smiled at him, "Fink so."

When the realtor came, they signed the papers to make Cuddy the co-owner of his apartment. House didn't seem at all upset at the prospect of sharing it with her. As he signed his name, he looked right at her so she could see the lack of uncertainty in his eyes.


	9. Bacon

_A/N-Thank you so much to all of the readers and to those who left a comment: IHeartHouseCuddy, housebound, the Guests, OldSFfan, JLCH, BabalooBlue, jkarr, jaybe61, lenasti16, Boo's House, JM, Suzieqlondon, Little Greg, Abby, vicpei1, HuddyGirl, grouchysnarky, Alex, freeasabird14, ikissedtheLaurie, dmarchl21, oc7ober and KiwiClare._

_For those who are interested, I'll be posting the one-shot sequel to Living Well next and then I'll be back to this story._

* * *

**-Bacon-**

Arlene visited for dinner one evening after House and Cuddy had been in their home for a few months. Cuddy and Arlene were cleaning up dishes while Arlene was continuing her usual critical dialogue, and House got Rachel ready for bed. Getting Rachel ready for bed seemed like a beautiful reprieve from listening to Arlene.

"What are you doing for Father's Day this year?" Arlene asked.

"What brought that up?" Cuddy asked, "it's almost a month away."

"Your uncle called me. He said all of the men in the family are still taking their children to that park for Father's Day in the morning. All of the wives are meeting at my house to make lunch to take over for the picnic in the afternoon."

The tradition started when Cuddy was small, and as a child, it was always a day she enjoyed. Cuddy hadn't attended the party in the years since her father's death. "That's good, Mom. I'm glad they're still doing it."

"Well, a few of us were talking, and we feel it's unfair for Rachel to miss out on a rich family tradition because of your…lifestyle."

"My _lifestyle_?"

"Well, if you want to raise a fatherless child, I guess that's up to you, but as a family, we don't want to see her deprived any more than necessary."

"Rachel is hardly deprived."

"She doesn't have that presence in her life. I remember how close you were with your dad."

"She loves House. They're very close."

"Anyway, the men in your family are willing to allow Rachel to come with them so she doesn't miss out on the whole day. She deserves to know what it feels like to have a father…even if she doesn't."

"House does live here," Cuddy argued while she put away the plates. "She has a great relationship with him. She doesn't care about what the paperwork says, she just likes him. She's fine with that. House is fine with that. I'm fine with that. So I don't think we have a problem here."

"You're acting like living with him is actually a _good_ thing for her. You aren't even married."

"We don't have to be married for them to get along."

"And he could walk out tomorrow. And if that happens, what will she do?"

"Husbands and fathers walk out on their families every day. Marriage and genetics don't determine stability."

"It's not just that. He clearly doesn't want to marry you. If he did, he would have proposed by now. You may be well educated, but you're still awfully naïve. He has the perfect situation. He has home cooked meals, he can play daddy when he feels like it, and he has a standing invitation into your bed. All without a single obligation or commitment."

"Except I'm the one who usually comes home to a meal. For someone who is just _playing daddy _when he feels like it_, _he does a lot of the things that aren't just for fun, and…," Cuddy paused momentarily but she was already irritated, so she hoped her straightforward response would stop Arlene from any further discussion, "…and I also have a standing invitation into his bed. So I think we're even."

"All of your clever responses won't help you when he leaves you. What will you do when you're a fifty year-old single mother, and Rachel is left without a man in her life just when she needs one the most? That man is not her dad. Because he doesn't _want_ to be her dad."

Arlene was interrupted by a tiny whimper, and she turned to the source of the noise. House stood in the door way to the kitchen. Rachel was in her pajamas, her hair still damp, with her head leaning against House's shoulder while she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"You have to completely dry her hair," Arlene continued without missing a moment, "the child will catch pneumonia."

"No she won't," House argued immediately.

"I know you're offended, but I'm trying to look out for my daughter and granddaughter. When you get tired of this little arrangement, I need to know they'll be alright. How will Rachel feel when you leave?"

Rachel lifted her head and asked, "Where ya goin'?" in the saddest, most pathetic voice House had ever heard.

"I'm not," he answered her, "Your grandmother is old and confused. She's leaving because she's going home now."

"You can't keep this little charade up forever," Arlene told Cuddy and House after she said goodbye to Rachel. "Lisa, you're a mother. It's time to put your child's needs above your own."

* * *

Rachel was hard to get to sleep that night. She was too young to fully understand the conversation and also too young to full express how she felt, but it was clear that she was upset and things felt unsettled. Before she went to sleep, she asked House, "You leavin'?"

"No," House answered softly, "and you can't make me."

Rachel finally smiled and seemed to settle.

When House and Cuddy went to bed, she began to apologize, "My mom…I'm sorry, she's just so-"

"I know how she is. At least she didn't call me Lucas this time. So I think we're making real progress."

"I don't feel the way she feels."

"About fatherhood in general or about the fact that we aren't married?"

"Either."

"Do you think we should get married?"

"I think that marriage is never something you should do because you feel like you _should_. We don't need it in any way. I'm certainly not a little girl who's spending hours fantasizing about my dream wedding. I think that at this point, people should get married if they want to. It should be an expression of love or a desire to formalize a commitment, but it isn't an obligation anymore. It certainly shouldn't be done because of what my mother thinks."

"OK," he answered before he clicked off the light.

He pulled her body on top of his as he started to kiss her neck, in a way, showing her that things between them were still alright. Cuddy asked, "Do you think we should?"

"Have sex?"

"Get married."

"Nope. I'm fine with giving you the commitment free, all-access pass to my bed."

* * *

Little was said about the topics of fatherhood or marriage over the next few weeks. Rachel seemed uncertain for a few days, but she gradually returned to her normal behavior as she realized that things were still the same.

When House woke on Father's Day, Rachel was sitting on the bed next to him, "You hafta get up."

He hadn't asked about what they were doing that day, mostly because he suspected that, at some point, Cuddy would decide to send Rachel to the family gathering Arlene had suggested. He covered his head with the pillow.

Rachel tried to pull the pillow off of him, finally growling her frustration as she exposed his face. "Mommy made you somefin. But I'm not apposed to tell."

He smelled something that seemed suspiciously like breakfast. "What did she make me?"

"Not tellin'."

"Is it mittens?"

"No."

"Is it…a UFO made out of blocks that really flies?"

"No."

"Is it soup?"

"No soup for breakfast."

"So she made me breakfast!" House declared, knowingly.

Rachel scowled, "Not tellin'."

When House made it to the kitchen, Cuddy smiled and gestured to the table. She put a plate of waffles and bacon in front of him and he looked up suspiciously, "Do I need a royal food taster?"

"She already had some and she seems to be fine."

"What is this bacon made out of?" he asked as he poked it with his fork. "It almost looks real."

"Stop asking questions and eat your breakfast."

He took a tiny, cautious bite of the waffle and blinked at the flavor, "This is good. As in _really_ good."

"How wonderful that that surprises you."

"Am I dying?"

"I can't even make you one breakfast without it igniting a firestorm of concern?"

He smirked, "What time are you Cuddys leaving?"

"The three of us are leaving at eleven."

"No breakfast in the world will convince me to go. But nice try."

"Why not?" she asked, exasperated.

"Because I'm not going to go to some He-Cuddy thing where they all play catch and talk about family values while we wait for your mother and various other females to show up and upset Rachel by telling her I don't really like her and that I'm leaving."

Rachel peeked back into the kitchen and he turned immediately and said, "I am absolutely not leaving. I'm not going anywhere." She looked up concernedly, and he added, "I like hanging out with you guys. You have the best toys. Why would I leave?"

The little girl seemed satisfied and wandered back into the hall before House leaned on the table toward Cuddy, "Actually _you _have my favorite toys."

"Great."

"But I'm still not going."

"You don't even know where we're going!"

House lifted a piece of bacon and took a sizeable bite, "This _is_ real bacon."

"Yes."

"I mean, from looking at it you can tell it's not plant based, but I was sure you were going to try to sneak some turkey crap through. It's fatty and delicious."

"I can't believe we're spending this much time on bacon. It's real, it's greasy and disgusting and it would love to aid in the clogging of your arteries. It's for you. Do you have to be suspicious of everything?"

"This breakfast is actually almost enough to convince me to go. Note the very critical use of the word 'almost.'"

"We're going to the music in the park thing. You wanted to go anyway. So stop being so difficult, enjoy your breakfast and get ready to go."

"Is that at the same park where the He-Cuddys go?"

"No. They aren't even in the same town." She continued, whispering the swear word, "Now eat your damn breakfast and try to enjoy it."

She started cleaning up the kitchen, slapping pans with some lingering irritation while he ate. Rachel came out, sneaking bites of his food and giggling as she ran back to play after each taste. When Cuddy was almost done cleaning up breakfast, she saw Rachel run back into the kitchen. "Honey, where are your pants?" Cuddy asked, trying not to laugh at the half naked child who was running through her kitchen.

"Sticky," the girl said, crinkling her nose and shaking her head.

"Syrup," House commiserated, "it tastes so good but sticks so bad."

Rachel nodded with wide-eyed agreement at his astute observation. Cuddy lifted the child onto the counter to wash her up, telling House to get ready for the day.

* * *

The three had a good time that day. They listened to music as Rachel danced using the same moves to every song that she heard. House was impressed that she adjusted her dances to match the tempo of each song. In the evening, they watched a movie shown on the side of one of the buildings at the park.

Rachel was napping while Cuddy carried her back to the car at the end of the day. "So why the bacon?" he asked.

Cuddy closed her eyes with frustration, "If I promise to never make you real bacon again…will you let it go?"

"I liked the bacon, so your promise is actually in opposition to what I'd really like to accomplish," he started flippantly but realized she was not similarly entertained. "Breakfast was good. I just don't get why you did it. At first I thought it was because Rachel was going to the Cuddy party. Then I thought it was because you wanted me to go _with_ Rachel to the Cuddy party. But it was neither. So why?"

"It would honestly make you more comfortable if I was trying to manipulate you?"

"Yea. Pretty much."

"I was trying to do something nice for you. It's Father's Day. Everyone seems to like to point out that Rachel _doesn't_ have a father or that you _aren't_ her dad. But what about what she does have. What Rachel has is you. And if what you are is 'not her dad' then I'm really glad that Rachel has a 'not her dad.' Maybe it's better. For us, it works."

House was quiet for the most of the ride, finally saying, "It was fun," in a way that seemed remarkably like a 'thank you.'

They parked and carried the sleeping girl inside. Cuddy looked down at her daughter, brushing the hair back from the girl's eyes. "She's cute, isn't she? Admit it," Cuddy pried playfully.

"She's a hideously ugly child," House answered fondly. Cuddy seemed to be thinking and he asked, uncomfortably, "What?"

"I was thinking about how attached she is to you."

"I guess she's not only hideously ugly, but she's weird too."

"If we break up now, we'll have to cut her in half," Cuddy stated definitely.

House breathed out a chuckle and Cuddy smiled victoriously at the rare reaction she was able to provoke. After returning to a more serious expression, he responded, "Makes sense. But I get to divvy up the halves."

After she put Rachel in bed, he asked, "Did you tell your mother you weren't going today?"

"Yes."

"That must have been a really fun conversation."

"I told her I was taking her advice…and putting my family's needs first."


	10. Washergate

_A/N-Thanks as always for all of the reviews, favorites and follows. I really appreciate each and every one. Thanks to all who commented on the last chapter here: BabalooBlue, KiwiClare, jaybe61, jkarr, JM, OldSFfan, the Guests, Little Greg, ikissedtheLaurie, IHeartHouseCuddy, LapizSilkwood, JLCH, Abby, lenasti16, Alex, HuddyGirl, freeasabird14, linda12344, CacauHousemaniaca, grouchysnarky, Suzieqlondon, hfspc, Boo's House, Mon Fogel, dmarchl21, karolprado._

* * *

**-Washergate-**

They'd had an alright evening so far. They often took turns planning their Friday nights because they liked to do different things. House chose a movie for later that night, and they sat at the bar, enjoying drinks while they waited for a table at the upscale place Cuddy had selected for dinner.

She toyed with her glass and he pushed around coarse crystals of salt that had fallen from someone's margarita, and they flirted like they'd just met, although it was obvious from their conversation that they knew each other quite well.

They sometimes talked about medicine on their dates, but rarely Princeton-Plainsboro, parenthood or issues of homeownership. They had never made a specific agreement to avoid those topics, but for some reason, it had always been implied. He was in the middle of telling her about a mysterious case when he saw the familiar twitch in her forehead that would accompany the careful placement of her hand over her lips when she'd try to stifle a yawn.

He thought about asking her if she was bored, but clearly that wasn't the case. She was tired. As delicious as the overpriced meal they were about to order would probably be, going home, finding a spot on the sofa and spending the night in a more intimate setting sounded infinitely more alluring. "This place sucks," he said suddenly, interrupting his own story.

"Because I picked it?"

"Because our place is empty and I'd rather spend the evening there."

"You want to go home?"

"You could come too."

"You're going to skip the movie?"

"Unless they want to show it in our living room…yes."

Just as she seemed on the verge of an argument, she shrugged, "Sounds great. Let's go."

The talk in the car on the way home became more suggestive, as it often did. They spent much of their lives as single people, and they each found themselves in a relationship with the subject of so many of their fantasies, so they still had equally intense appetites for each other.

They kissed as she stepped back into the kitchen at home, his hands busily moving against her body until she unexpectedly pulled back. He could see from the light on the porch that she had a look of confused disgust on her face, and he responded, "Not the look I was hoping to see at a moment like this."

"It feels gross."

"Oh good…the words that accompany the look."

"Not you. The doormat," she answered, pulling completely away from him and looking down at the floor.

House flicked on the light, revealing a kitchen covered in water that flowed from the adjacent laundry room.

"I forgot it was on!" Cuddy yelled, exasperated. "I put Rachel's clothes in to soak…she had paint all over them."

"You left here with it on?" he asked, proudly.

"Yea…I break my own rule and this is what happens." She confessed, "I never would have left it on intentionally. I forgot about it. I was in such a hurry to get her ready to go. It completely slipped my mind."

Cuddy stepped carefully through the kitchen, grabbing old towels from a linen closet while House looked at the broken seal on the washer. When he joined her in the kitchen, she was sopping up towel after towel of the mess. House stood along the edge of the room, pouring himself a drink.

"It would be _really_ great if you could help me," she said after wringing the towels into the sink, taking his scotch from his hand and stealing a sip before returning to the floor.

"I'd love to, but _you_ broke the rule about leaving the washer on when we aren't home. And with my leg, I'm not crawling around on a wet floor."

She watched him disappear into the garage and was ready to scream while she looked out at the mess in front of her. Her mind weighed the possibility of negotiating for his help while she began to seethe with irritation that he would leave her to clean up such a mess on her own. Something started rolling loudly across the floor and then she saw House peek around the corner, "You look extremely pissed off," he nodded, smirking.

"I'd like some help. That would be the nice thing to do."

He grabbed the edge of a hose and pulled until a wheeled object rolled in front of her.

"You can't vacuum water," she dryly answered, "but nice try."

Using his cane, he pointed to lettering, and read, "Wet-Dry Vac."

"You have one of those?"

"I do."

"Why would you have something like that?"

He plugged it in as he answered, "Ever have pipes burst?"

"No."

"I have."

House started to vacuum up the puddles while Cuddy finished drying the remaining damp spots that were left behind. Within an hour, they were finished. He was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, leaning against some cabinets and staring straight ahead. She piled her sopping wet clothes on the dryer and talked about hiring a repairman until she realized that House wasn't listening. He wasn't watching her either, and usually if she was naked or nearly naked in an area of the house where she would normally be clothed, she had his attention. She wondered if he was finally getting used to her, a fact that she wasn't sure she was happy about, and then she realized he was working on a problem.

"You don't want to get this one fixed?" she asked as she came over to take his shirt. It was wet after dumping buckets of water from the vacuum. After she put it with hers, she took a seat on the floor next to him.

"Hunh?"

"You want to buy a new washer?"

"Whatever you want," he answered with his thumbnail between his teeth.

"What's going on?"

"Just thinking about tonight."

"Next Friday will be better."

"Why aren't we married?" he asked as he faced her.

Her eyes widened, "We just…aren't."

"I get it if you wouldn't want to. I'm a risky choice."

"Not really."

"I am. And I find it unlikely that you'll be relaxing much any time soon…but yet…you forgot to turn off the washer before we left."

"A fact that you'll likely remind me of for the rest of our natural lives."

"It's significant. I like that you forgot. You were distracted from what you _had_ to do because of something you _wanted_ to do. "

"It's not the first time I've forgotten to do something."

"No, but the thing you wanted to do was go out with me. You ditch fun stuff all of the time because you're distracted by obligations, but tonight, you ditched the obligations for the fun stuff."

"I just forgot."

"Still. I was the reason for the forgetfulness."

"And this leads you to question the feasibility of marriage?"

"Not really the feasibility. We both know that it's _possible_…we _could_ get married. We're better together. You can sometimes have fun. I can sometimes be responsible. I was just questioning the why-not of it all."

"There is no reason why we shouldn't. We just haven't."

"You've told me that people shouldn't get married because they feel they _should_. They shouldn't get married out of obligation. So if not out of obligation…why should we?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Ouch."

"Not because I don't want to. You just don't seem like the marrying kind. You did freak out when I asked you to move in with me."

"You think that I wouldn't want to find one women and make a commitment?"

"I didn't say that."

"After I got clean I set my sights on you and never turned away. I paid your ex tons of money to stakeout absolutely nothing…just for the chance to eat dinner with you. I challenged your ridiculous belief that we could be friends. You are why I initially learned to accept Rachel. It seems so normal now, trust me, she's one of my elite inner circle, but a kid was a pretty big change for me."

"It was. I just think you don't like change, and you like things as they are right now, so there's no reason to shake it up."

"I know what I want. I have it. Commitment's not about giving it up."

"So I'm like your takeout order or your evening drink? You've found one and want to stick with it?" she asked, amused. "Am I a…habit?"

"The withdrawal would be epic. And now you have proof that I actually do _need_ to hit that daily."

Cuddy chuckled and leaned her head back against the cabinet as she thought. After a minute, she answered, with great consideration, "People should get married because they love each other. They want to tell each other, and everyone else, that they intend on spending their lives together. Instead of a month-to-month lease, they sign a lifetime contract."

"And the gifts."

"And the gifts," she confirmed. "We obviously need a washer."

"But then it isn't about what we need. It's about what we want."

"Yes."

"Of course, if it's about gifts, you could just give me a raise, which in some way gives you a raise. And then we could buy two or three washers. You wouldn't have to screw with all of the pesky commitment crap and the legion of donors, board members, department heads and family members who will ask why in the hell you're marrying me."

"Well…they aren't the ones getting married."

"It seems neither are we. Too bad, I'm sure we could use a set of etched glasses with 'Lisa and Lucas eternally' from your mother."

"She hasn't called you Lucas in months."

"Does that mean she likes me?"

"She likes you. She's just…Mom. She isn't the affectionate, lovey type, she never has been. I would think you'd appreciate that."

"She's not bad. She thinks you could do better."

"Almost all parents think their kids could do better. Your mom probably does."

"My mom's happy. I think she had visions of me, dying alone in a drugged out stupor. She gets to buy Rachel stuff. Her expectations were set at a different level than your mother's." When he saw a flash of sadness on Cuddy's face he asked, "You don't want my mom to approve?"

"I don't like the image…you dying alone in a drugged out stupor."

"Not my favorite either."

"Marry me," she said, clearly.

"Oh…I dunno," he answered lightly, covering her mouth with a subtle kiss.

His mouth barely moved against hers, grazing the sensitive skin of her lips with his. She was still a little stunned, uncertain if his rejection was a joke or a game. She could tell he was spinning the end of his cane in his lap. Initially she ignored his strange actions until she finally asked, "Why bring it up if you… What are you doing?"

He looked down toward his lap, but didn't answer. Her eyes followed to whatever he was looking at, eventually discovering the rubber stop from the bottom of his cane in his open hand. He picked up the cane and showed her the end of it, revealing a hollowed out space. She stared at it with confusion, so he explained, "After Tritter busted me, I found tons of places to hide pills. I had emergency stashes on top of my emergency stashes. My friendly neighborhood cane salesman had one like this. People use them to sneak stuff through security at shows or at the airport…anywhere that you need to bring in your favorite stuff and someone may try to take it."

"You're using again?"

"No. Well…not drugs. This is about my other habit." He held the end of the cane higher, revealing the edge of a small plastic bag tucked in the hollowed out space. "Take it. You can have it if you want it."

She pulled it out, hesitant to discover the contents. Inside the bag was a piece of black fabric. As she unrolled the fabric, something fell out and dropped onto her leg. Her eyes found it, but her brain didn't immediately comprehend what it was. Grasping the ring between her fingers, she lifted it, staring at the beautiful clarity of the diamond. It was sizable, but not gaudy, but it was probably the most beautiful piece of jewelry she had ever seen. "What is this?" she asked, still stunned.

"It's a ring."

"It's for me?"

"It was for me…but it didn't look right with my other jewelry. I figured I might as well give it to you so I don't waste it." She ignored the sarcasm as she thought, and he took it from her fingers, holding it up between them. He said, matter-of-factly, "I want to marry you. I guess the question is: do you want to marry me?"

She nodded once before she kissed him, happily lost in love and excitement for a moment before she pulled away, "You just had to have the last word? You couldn't let me ask?"

"Technically if I ask, and you say yes, then you do have the last word."

"Yes," she answered while he put it on. "It fits perfectly."

"Of course it does. I know everything about your body."

"You planned to do this tonight?"

"No. It wasn't a plan. I had it in case I needed it."

"Is this 'pick a date' serious?"

"I'll go tomorrow."

"Or we could compromise and pick a date tomorrow."

"That would work too," he answered while he let his hand begin an exploration of her body.

"Want to go to bed?"

"This floor is so clean you could eat off it," he said, looking at her suggestively while his hand slipped between her legs and pushed her panties to the side.

"The _floor_ is…I need a shower."

His shoulder leaned against hers while he touched her, feeling the weight of her breast, tracing the shape and rigidity of her nipple once he talked her out of her bra. His finger bobbled along the shape of her ribs, grazing over her stomach and back down between her legs again. He watched everything he did, occasionally looking at her face to make sure she was watching too. He could still sometimes touch her like he had never known her before, like he was still marveling at an unfamiliar partner. But he had memorized her a hundred times and still liked to do it again.

"I think we should wait to have sex until we're married," he stated, attempting a look of innocence.

She laughed aloud for a second and answered, "I'm not sure how long I'd make it."

"We'd only have to be careful about resisting our wicked urges until tomorrow…if you agree to my date."

"Wait," she pulled his hand away from her body, "do you really want to get married that quickly?"

"We've decided. Why wait?"

"I won't elope. I just…I can't do that. I don't just want to hurry and get it over with. I want a wedding. But we'll do it soon. In the next couple of months."

He moved his hand away from her grasp and slipped his finger through the folds of her sex until he could press into her. "OK. I guess we're stuck messing around until then…or at least for the next two or three minutes until we decide that waiting is overrated," he answered before he started to patiently get her off with his hand.

She reached across their bodies, taking his cock out from his jeans. They were fooling around on the floor, not rushing to sex or falling into patterns like some partners who were too familiar, just slowly getting each other off while they shared kisses or stared at the beauty of the body before them. House smirked at her attempts to remain controlled, but as much as he was exploring her body like it was new, he knew what she liked, and he was a devoted student of her physical form. She stepped up her attention, proving to him that she knew his body just as well.

He watched her getting closer, trying not to come before he did. She was gasping into his mouth when she tried to kiss him because she was running out of control. "I was really hoping to fuck my new fiancée today," she sighed, shakily.

He pretended to consider it, but his attempt only lasted a second or two before he rolled her under him, wrapping her legs around his torso while they moved. "Hard to argue with that," he answered, like he was doing her a favor, before he thrust into her with one solid, smooth move of his hips.

They both gasped out loudly and exchanged a look for one final moment of guarded patience before they tossed patience to the side and screwed like there was no other choice in the matter. They were quick and almost furious in their passion, taking and claiming each other with every fiber of their being. Everything was so intense and the buildup so extensive that, as fantastic as everything felt, they really only lasted a few minutes before they were limp piles of sweaty limbs on the floor.

"You couldn't just say yes when I asked you?" Cuddy questioned, her tone happy and relaxed.

"You didn't show me a ring. I wasn't sure if you were serious," he teased.

"Really…how long have you had it?"

"A while. Since before we bought this place."

"You've been carrying it around in your cane just in case?"

"Carrying it around until the right moment."

She stared at it on her finger, "And sitting on the floor in our underwear after cleaning up from a broken washer _is_ the right moment?"

"It would be easy to say yes if I flew you to some perfect destination, bought you a perfect dinner with a perfect bottle of wine and proposed on bended knee. If you want to marry me after a slightly disappointing date night, after we cleaned up a hideous mess that you were responsible for, while we're tired and sitting here in our underwear…then you really want to marry me. It's easy to say yes to some clichéd, rehearsed, nauseatingly romantic proposal. Life doesn't really exist in moments like those. These normal moments are what we're stuck with."

"What about the fact that this now seems really, really romantic?"

"Entirely accidental."


	11. The Maid of Horror

_A/N-Finally updating here. The next chapter is already about half written because it was originally part of this one (so hopefully I can get back to posting every Friday or Saturday). Thank you so much to all of you and thanks to the reviewers: jkarr, IHeartHouseCuddy, JLCH, KiwiClare, the Guests, Abby, OldSFfan, jaybe61, HuddyGirl, Alex, byte size, ikissedtheLaurie, grouchysnarky, linda12344, BabalooBlue, housebound, Boo's House, Suzieqlondon, bere, IwuvHouse, CaptainK8, freeasabird14, Ann, LoveMyHouse, oc7ober, dmarchl21, Mon Fogel, Jane Q. Doe, Ann, Tori and eternalhuddylove._

_This chapter is a bit transitional, but hopefully it's entertaining too._

* * *

**-The Maid of Horror-**

When House and Cuddy walked into Arlene's to pick up Rachel, they assumed their positions just inside the door. If they both walked into a room after an absence, the little girl would run to both of them at the same time, diving to the space between the two adults while her arms looped around the their legs in half-hugs. They had learned long ago to stand so that his bad leg would not receive the brunt of the exuberant greeting.

As soon as they were through the door, she dove for their legs, happily chattering about what she'd done while they were gone and how much she'd missed them. They greeted the girl as Arlene said, "Rachel said she's going to school. Do you really think preschool is the right idea this early?"

Cuddy answered, "It's not really early. They'll sing ABC's and she'll get to play with other children her own age. She's surrounded by adults and probably has a better basic understanding of how an X-ray works than how to play the games that all of the other kids play. It's good for her to be with her peers."

Rachel ran through the room, swinging on House's free arm before announcing, "X-rays light up the bones," and continuing her journey through the space.

"You didn't attend any preschools. You spent all of your time with me until you started kindergarten," Arlene said.

"And yet…she still became a doctor and managed _not_ to become a sociopath," House jabbed.

"Things have changed," Cuddy told her mother, "kids are expected to know a lot before they even start kindergarten."

Rachel darted through the room, went to a little toy piano and started to play for Arlene. The nursery rhyme was unmistakable. "You have her in music classes too?" the older woman asked. "Does she have any time to be a child?"

Cuddy pointed at House, "The second he sits down at the piano, she's there. He showed her a few things. Rachel loves it."

When Arlene didn't answer, Cuddy turned, noticing that her mother's eyes had found the new ring.

"With any luck, my little apprentice will be pounding out the classics in a year," House answered.

Rachel asked for a drink, so Cuddy led the girl by the hand to the kitchen. House stood awkwardly by the door. It was rare that he and Arlene were in a room alone, but it was always painfully uncomfortable.

"Nicely done," Arlene commented.

"Teaching a kid to repeat a few notes is hardly an amazing accomplishment," he answered while he stared at pictures hanging near him.

"Not that. The ring. Did Lisa pick it out?"

He turned, stunned not by the fact that she'd seen it, but because she seemed very relaxed about her discovery. Shaking his head, he replied to the wall, "I chose it."

"She didn't know?"

"No. She didn't know."

When Arlene broke the temporary silence, she said, "It suits her."

"Of course it does."

The woman walked up, stood in front of him and said, earnestly, "Mazel tov."

"What?"

"It means congratulations."

"I know what it _means_, I'm just surprised you're saying it to me."

"I think you're a very lucky man."

"You can skip the speech about how you'll have me killed by a vicious band of old ladies from the community center if I ever hurt your daughter."

"That's ridiculous. I wouldn't need their help to kill you," she joked wryly. "You're a much better choice than the last one. He seemed nice enough, but she would have died of boredom within the first year. You challenge her. She likes to be challenged. In a way, it makes sense that she'd go after the man who was probably least likely to settle down."

"I went after her," House answered, quietly.

Arlene nodded with respect at the admission, and then said, "I can't really imagine her with anyone else. Over the years, I've heard a lot of advice. Lots of _experts_ say to never go to sleep angry, but in your case, that means neither of you will sleep. Sometimes a few hours of sleep can go a long way. You're both stubborn. If you both set your minds to it, you'll be fine."

"Ever since we started dating you've acted like I was a terrible choice."

"Oh I never thought you'd marry her. Lisa spent so much time telling me why she didn't want to be married that I just assumed she was trying to protect you."

House was in complete shock when she offered him the same stiff half-hug that she would usually give her daughter. They both saw Cuddy at the edge of the room with Rachel, staring widely.

Cuddy cleared her throat and finally asked, "Are you having a mafia-style hit put on House?"

"I think your mother just made a pass at me," he said. "Don't punish her for it, it's my fault. I just can't turn off the hotness."

"I'm congratulating him on the upcoming wedding," Arlene corrected, glowering at him.

"Oh," Cuddy answered, tentatively, "Thank you."

"When is it?"

"We didn't decide yet."

"Make sure to give him enough notice. It might take them a few weeks to make him look presentable," Arlene said to Cuddy before she turned to House, "You _will _shave and brush your hair before the wedding, won't you?"

He considered the question, "_Before_ the wedding? You mean at some point between now and when we get married? I would say the likelihood of that is high. Yea, probably a few times. I try make sure I do that once a week. Or is it a once a month. I hate over-crowding my schedule."

"I'm sure you can handle doing those things for one day for my daughter's benefit."

"Stop," Cuddy quickly interrupted, "let's spend a few days being happy about the engagement before we start worrying about the details."

"Details?" Arlene started. "_Grooming_ is details?"

Cuddy appeared to be ignoring the conversation for a moment before she added, "I like the way he looks. I'm not shaving my head so why should he shave his face. It would look _that _weird. I want to recognize the man when we exchange vows. "

House started to gloat and Arlene began to protest, but Rachel stepped in. "Can I get married too?"

"You can be part of the wedding," Cuddy answered.

"Can we have ponies for it?"

"No. Sorry, no ponies."

Rachel sulked, "What about balloons?"

"Sure. And probably flowers. You could be our flower girl."

"I thought she was going to be my best man," House said.

"Well, I was pretty sure you'd pick Wilson for that," Cuddy replied.

"Uncle Wilson can't be a flower _girl_," Rachel stated, as if House needed an explanation.

House picked her up, and chuckled, "Of course not, that would be ridiculous. He probably wants to be your mom's maid of honor." He looked around, disappointed that Wilson wasn't there to hear the conversation.

* * *

On alternating Saturday afternoons, House and Rachel would go to lunch with Wilson if there wasn't a patient in distress. Cuddy usually spent a couple of hours at a fitness center nearby. They entered House's old apartment that Wilson had since occupied. Wilson greeted them with an apron on. House commented, "This place could use a man's touch. Maybe you could get a roommate."

"Jokes about my masculinity…how refreshing," Wilson countered, "but wait until you taste the dessert I made."

"I wasn't referring to the baking, I was referring to the curtains and coordinated area rug."

Rachel pulled on Wilson's hand, "Do you wanna be the maid a' horror?"

House beamed with pride, "The words of an innocent."

"What did House put you up to?" Wilson asked as he picked up the child.

"If I'm gonna be the flower girl, you can be the maid a' horror," she explained simply.

"Flower girl? Maid of…do you mean maid of _honor_?"

"No," House interjected loudly, "when it comes to you, she definitely means maid of horror."

She announced, giddily, "Mom and House are getting married."

Wilson looked at House and back at Rachel, shaking his head while a smile emerged, "Is she serious?"

"I figured why get the milk for free when I can buy the cow."

"Can we get a pony if we get a cow?" Rachel asked excitedly.

"What's with the sudden obsession with ponies?" House asked.

Wilson hurriedly put Rachel down and went to the closet. He returned, bringing her over to the sofa and handing her a bag. She peered inside and Wilson exclaimed, "Those are your favorites, right? The one with the rainbow cutie mark and the one that looks like a unicorn?"

"Rainbow Dash and Rarity!" Rachel answered, hugging Wilson before she ran to the coffee table to play with her new toys, calling, "Thanks!"

"I think I'm in shock," Wilson said as he followed House into the kitchen.

"Me too. How could I ever question to the masculinity of a guy who says things like 'rainbow cutie mark'?"

"What? It's a cartoon! When I kept her last week, we watched My Little Pony. It's what they call the little marks on their flanks. Cutie marks. I didn't invent it. And you're just trying to change the subject. You and Cuddy are getting married? She asked you or you asked her?"

"She asked me. I said no. Then I asked her."

"And she actually said yes after you said no?"

"She did."

"So why say no?"

"She didn't have a ring. I did."

"I had no idea you were such a devoted traditionalist."

"It's not about tradition, it's about evidence of intentions and follow-through. What's the point in running a differential diagnosis day-in-day-out unless you plan to choose the best idea and actually try to treat the patient?"

"You should write a relationship advice column. 'Diagnostic Love' sounds like the perfect name."

"Wilson, do you have…a rainbow cutie mark?"

"Whenever I spend time with you," Wilson answered, "it's easy to see why you so often have bruise-colored cutie marks on your face."

* * *

They ate lunch at Wilson's while My Little Pony played on the TV for Rachel. House checked his phone, reading a text and saying, "Cuddy's stopping over for some soup recipe for her friend."

When Cuddy knocked on the door, House remained on the sofa, leafing through a catalogue until he heard Cuddy say, "James Wilson, this is my friend Deb Traynor. I hope you don't mind, we were in the same class today, and she reminded me about the recipe..."

"No, please, come in," Wilson answered, politely shaking Deb's hand.

House scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head when Deb started to talk about how much her niece and nephew loved the same cartoons that were playing on the TV.

Deb and Wilson's introduction went very well, and Cuddy seemed beyond satisfied with herself when she and House were home later that evening. "Deb and Wilson hit it off," Cuddy said when she came into their room.

"What a lucky _coincidence,_" House replied.

"It was a good time to stop by."

"Nice touch with the drop by. It wasn't a blind date, just a couple of women having a nice little post-yogic chat and stopping by for a soup recipe. I saw right through your fix up. You think that because she was dressed in workout clothes instead of a tight skirt that I'm supposed to think it wasn't a fix up?"

"No. It doesn't matter what you thought it was as long as Wilson didn't think it was a fix up. It takes the pressure off. And if they didn't like each other, we could have turned around and walked out ten minutes later, and no one would have been the wiser."

"I would have been the wiser."

"But he likes her. Doesn't he?"

"What's not to like? She's hot, single and her nipples were pointed directly at his face."

"Were you checking her out?"

"Well yea. Not because I wanted to, I'm required to."

"I can't wait to hear this sexist, antiquated explanation."

"It's neither sexist nor antiquated. Wilson is my best friend. It's my job to make sure that the women he's considering are worthy of his attention. I think he suffers from low-T and forgets he's a guy. I'm like testosterone replacement therapy, except I'm not a cream, I'm a friend."

"Well, there is more to her than her nipples," Cuddy answered testily.

"I'm not denying that. Wilson can evaluate those parts, learn her likes and dislikes and share meaningful conversation. I'm the inspector. Physically, she passed. What Wilson decides to do now that she passed inspection is up to him. Unless she turns out to be another Sam, in which case you and I will orchestrate her departure. Are you jealous that I looked at the woman you brought there to be inspected?"

"I'm not jealous and I didn't bring her there to be _inspected_!"

Cuddy was getting irritated, but it sort of amused House. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't enjoy it. It was purely obligatory. But as far as I'm concerned…he owes you. Quite a step up from Sam."

"I was part of the reason that he and Sam broke up. I owe him."

"No you don't. There was no reason to get involved. He's doing fine. Wilson doesn't have trouble meeting women."

"Maybe I just wanted to help."

"If he doesn't need help, why help him?"

At that point, Cuddy was really getting frustrated, "Doesn't he deserve to be happy too? You and I are celebrating our engagement and I don't want to flaunt our relationship in his face when he's alone. It feels unfair to be this happy in front of him."

"You're happy?" he scoffed.

"Yes, I'm happy. I'm really _fucking_ happy," Cuddy yelled, but quietly since Rachel was asleep. She looked quite angry until she saw the uncertain smirk on his face.

"I'm really fucking happy too," he said with mock anger.

She started to chuckle hesitantly, and said with less ire, "I am happier overall. Maybe not a few seconds ago. I like… us. I like this. I don't want Wilson to be alone. He deserves to have something like this."

"I like it too, but I have a feeling that our relationship probably wouldn't work for everyone. Don't worry, it's not us…everyone _else _is weird."

"I want him to have a relationship that would work for him."

"And you have no reason to be jealous. That girl is plenty hot enough for Wilson, but my standards are much, much higher," House said with admiration.

"I'm not worried. Besides, the men's gymnastics team uses the fitness center on Saturdays, so we're probably even."

"You checked out the entire _team_ and somehow we're even?"

"I had a look or two, but my standards are much, much higher. So here I am," she answered as she climbed on top of him.

"Well, wait and see how hot they look after I Crisco their pommel horse."

Cuddy playfully nipped his lip, "Seriously though…I think Wilson likes her. What do you think?"

"I don't know, probably. With any lucky, in a year or two, they'll have the storybook romance we have…arguing about how fucking happy they are and trying to choose a maid of horror."


End file.
